


Take Me All the Way

by Knightlycat



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Klaine Big Bang, M/M, fashion designer!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightlycat/pseuds/Knightlycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Successful fashion designer Kurt Hummel has lost his inspiration. When his friend and assistant, Santana Lopez, banishes him from New York so that he can find his missing muse, he takes a trip to Washington State to visit the decaying Victorian house he recently inherited. Small towns are not Kurt's cup of tea, but he tries to make the best of his month of exile. Then he meets construction manager Blaine Anderson at a bachelor auction and Victorian-themed costume party and a month starts to seem not nearly long enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the 2013 Klaine Big Bang. Huge thanks to my lovely beta [gottriplets](http://gottriplets.tumblr.com) and to my wonderful artist [ricoka](http://ricoka.tumblr.com) (art blog at [ricokadoodles](http://ricokadoodles.tumblr.com)). When I first saw the piece she made for me I was like =), then =D, then u____u asdfsdfdsfsd. Please visit her blog and give her some love. Title comes from the song Love Somebody by Maroon 5.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://24.media.tumblr.com/f1492f2b6213c9126a5b1f3725758894/tumblr_mvld7xY0R51rr8kuno1_400.jpg)  
> 

"Finished! Here, what do you think?" Kurt spun his sketch book around triumphantly so that Santana, his office manager and one of his best friends, could marvel over his latest creation.

Santana examined the drawing thoughtfully, her eyes lingering over the lines and curves of the intricate ball gown. "Beautiful. Awe inspiring. Mind boggling." Kurt grinned excitedly at her response and did a little happy dance shimmy in his chair. "I love it. Almost as much as the original. Alexander McQueen, Fall 2012."

"What?" Kurt cried in dismay as he pulled the book back to him. "No, it's nothing like…" his voice trailed off as he inspected the corseted top and floating, dreamlike skirt. "Oh god, it is. I did it again." He threw his colored pencil down onto the table, enjoying the sharp pinging sound it made as the end broke off and went flying into the side of his vintage 1950s diner coffee mug. "What is _wrong_ with me? I haven't been able to design anything in months that isn't derivative as hell, a blatant copy, or destined for the discount racks at Wal-Mart."

Sometimes, Kurt really wondered why he'd been picked as one of 's _10 Designers to Watch_ two years before. When he was at his best—knocking out eye-catching designs that he knew he'd be seeing on the red carpet or in the exclusive aisles of Saks and Neiman Marcus—he knew that he deserved the honor and wasn't ashamed to admit it, but when he was feeling particularly uninspired, as he was now, doubt began to creep in. Maybe Isabel Wright had put undue influence on the selection committee to pick her former intern. He knew he wasn't the first person to wonder if he was fully deserving of the honor.

He'd been designing his own line for over five years now, having slaved away for the three years before that as an assistant designer at Zach Posen. He'd built his business up from scratch until he had two assistant designers of his own, as well as an office full of support staff. In all that time, he'd never had such a long or profound dry spell. Nothing was speaking to him and clothes seemed to be nothing more than fabric draped over bodies.

It had happened before, of course—everyone experienced their own personal equivalent of writer's block once-and-a-while—but it felt different this time, the lack of inspiration at times so profound that it felt as if something was slowly replacing the creative molecules in his body one-by-one, like a tree being petrified over the years.

He hadn't felt so disconnected from fashion since that time he'd dressed like a trucker for a week in high school.

He sank his elbows onto the table and laid his chin miserably in his hands, sighing deeply as he wondered out loud how'd he pay for his exclusive uptown loft when he was reduced to taking a job as a stylist or (shudder) a personal shopper at Nordstrom.

Santana didn't offer up a pep talk (not that he expected her to), so he allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for just a few minutes longer before he squared his shoulders and drew himself up tall in his chair. "Alright. Let's get everyone in here for a brainstorming session in an hour."

Santana shook her head at his announcement. "It's six o'clock, in case you haven't noticed." Kurt looked at her blankly. "Six o'clock. In the evening. Quitting time? That magical hour when normal people pack up their laptops and leave the office for these strange little rooms that they sleep in?"

Kurt felt a prickle of guilt, but pushed it away, desperate to find a way out of his rut. "I'm sure they won't mind staying late just this once."

"Kurt, it wouldn't even be the first time this _week_ ," Santana said, her tone as dry as the martinis served at bar in the Carlyle hotel. "You've had people work so many late nights and weekends recently that they've had to send photos home in order to remind their families what they look like."

"It hasn't been that bad," Kurt grumbled into his quickly cooling coffee.

"Yes, it has." Santana walked over to her desk and returned with something in her hand. "You've barely left the office in a month and you've forced the rest of us to suffer along with you. Here."

Kurt pulled his head back just as a small paper folder sailed past his face, barely saving himself from a paper cut on the nose. "What is it?" he asked, poking at the object suspiciously with his now useless pencil. Though he assumed the folder was too small to contain anything venomous, he wouldn't put it past Santana to try.

"It's a plane ticket. You're going to get out of town for a while. Take a vacation. Recapture your lost mojo."

"And just how am I supposed to do that?"

Santana just shrugged. "Relax. Get laid. Take up a new hobby. I really don't care. But if you don't leave right now there might be bloodshed, because all of your whining over the past two months has seriously made me have some Lima Heights flashbacks and we all know what happens when Snix comes out to play."

"I can't just leave," he protested.

"Yes, you can." Santana glared at him as she bent over to press her hands flat against the table top, her short mini-dress riding up just enough to catch the attention of the UPS driver who was picking up a package at the front desk, which Kurt was sure wasn't inadvertent. "And you will."

Kurt glared right back at her, but their staring contest didn't last for long and ended with him losing, as usual (Santana had the freakish ability to go for abnormally long periods of time without blinking, confirming his long held suspicions that she was, in fact, part snake). "Well, I suppose a day or two off wouldn't—"

"Nope. At least six months."

"What?" he cried incredulously. "That's ridiculous! The collection—"

"Fashion Week is over, the designs for the new collection are locked, and you already committed to letting the assistants take a larger role in the next one. You know that they're going to end up doing most of the work anyways, given the way you've been sketching lately. You can send us anything you come up with while you're gone and I'll send you their sketches for approval and handle everything here in the office. This isn't negotiable. I'll make your life miserable if you stay, I swear to God. Besides," she said with a shrug, "we had an all-hands meeting without you last night and the vote was unanimous. Either you go or we do."

Kurt knew her well enough to recognize that it wasn't an idle threat. Well, the leaving part was—Santana was harder to get rid of than an infestation of cockroaches—but he had no doubts she would use every weapon in her varied and extensive arsenal to make him regret it if he stayed. Besides, now that he'd had a little time to think about it, getting away _did_ sound kind of appealing. At least he would have something to do other than stare at his empty sketch pad.

"One week."

"Six months."

"Two weeks."

"Five months."

Kurt straightened his spine and gave her his best "I'm the boss" look. "One month and that's my final offer."

"Fine, but not a day less," she agreed, giving in way too quickly.

Kurt eyed her suspiciously and reached for the envelope she'd thrown at him. "Where are you sending me anyways?" He opened the folder to find it empty.

"Do I have to do everything? Figure that out for yourself." She smirked as he shook the paper folder at her. "What? I work better with props."

Kurt looked at the icon of an airplane on the front of the thick card-stock paper. "My great-aunt did leave me her house in Port Townsend, Washington when she died last year. I haven't ever been out there and I guess I kinda need to decide what to do with it."

Santana pulled her coat off the rack in the corner and swung it around her shoulders in one smooth motion. "Perfect. Go commune with the bears or pick some apples or whatever it is they do out there. Just don't come back and tell us the theme of your new collection is 'orca whale.'"

"Do you suppose they have good bagels in Washington?" he asked plaintively, already second guessing his decision.

"I wouldn't even give you good odds that they've _heard_ of bagels. Hey, look on the bright side, though—at least you can be assured that there'll be plenty of coffee."

=^..^=

Kurt slammed the door of his rental car, his mouth hanging open slightly as he took in the Queen Anne style Victorian house before him. The lawyer had sent him photos of the house when he'd signed the inheritance paperwork, but they hadn't really done the place justice.

The house was a faded blue, with peeling white trim along the bay windows, porch, and high gables. It seemed narrow from the front, but extended far back from the road, its asymmetrical façade offering up a feast for the eyes. The front yard was neat—evidence that the caretaker who'd been hired to maintain the place had been doing his job—and from his vantage point Kurt could just see the detached garage nestled in back. Since he was used to noticing details, he was easily able to pick out the missing shingles, the worn steps, and the broken gingerbread decorations along the roofline. Those things didn't matter, though. The house might be bit bedraggled and had definitely seen better days, but it had a charm that couldn't be suppressed.

He grabbed his carry-on bag from the trunk, shrugged his jacket on to ward off the early March chill that still lingered in the air, and headed towards the front door.

Stepping into the house was like stepping back in time and _not_ in a good way. It was obvious that the house had been renovated, but unfortunately it seemed as if that work had been done in the 1970s, the lost decade of bad fashion, boring architecture, and even worse interior design. Horrible gold-ish colored shag carpet covered the living room floor (please, please let the original hardwoods still be underneath) and he could already see that the color scheme continued into the kitchen, where he could just make out dark brown linoleum and ancient gold appliances.

He prowled through the rooms on the bottom floor to get his bearings and then headed up the elaborate, but worn, wooden staircase to check out the bedrooms. He nearly turned around and left when he saw the oppressive wallpaper that covered the walls. Every room had a different color and design, but each was just as horrible as the last. Kurt had a delicate, finely tuned aesthetic palate and it literally hurt him to see such a criminal use of wall décor.

The only saving grace on the top floor was the beautiful wood-beamed ceilings and the huge clawfoot bathtub (he knew what he'd be doing later that night) in the master bathroom.

He returned downstairs and, after finding a door to some kind of cellar and slamming it shut quickly when he hear suspicious rustling noises, headed into the kitchen, which seemed about a quarter of the size that it actually was due to the dark floors and cabinets.

It took him an hour to finish exploring the house and property. When he was done, he found himself alone in the living room, wondering what to do next.

Did Chinese food deliver in the back of beyond?

=^..^=

After the non-stop hustle and bustle that was New York City, Kurt was having a little trouble adjusting to the slower pace of the sleepy little port town on the Olympic Peninsula. He'd been in town for three days so far, but the lack of urgency and the complete dearth of anything important to do had turned him into a couch potato. He'd gone out on the first morning to get groceries, but everyone moved so slowly that he'd had to fight to tamp down his now deeply ingrained New York impatience. He hadn't left the house since then, moping around in his (fabulous) pajamas all day watching old _Mary Tyler Moore Show_ episodes on the ancient TV in the living room, trying to sketch a little, and mourning his once-promising career.

It was the absence of familiar noises that was really getting to him the most, though. There were no sirens screaming by at all hours, no horns honking or other traffic sounds. There were just the first birds of spring singing outside his window and the wind rustling the branches outside. He'd forgotten to pack his white noise machine, so he heard every creak and groan as the house settled during the night. As he lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling above his bed, his mind churned over the past several months and he worried that there was no light at the end of his particular tunnel.

Finally, on the fourth day, he decided to stop feeling sorry for himself. Maybe inspiration was waiting just around the corner. He drove into town and found a coffee shop (despite his current proximity to Seattle, the hometown of Starbucks, he still preferred small local places) that looked good. He sat at a table near the window and watched the ferries go in and out of the dock, wondering absently where all the people were coming from and going to. He was used to seeing the Staten Island Ferry back home, but the big, white and green Washington State Ferries, which seemed to hold an endless number of cars, were a completely different animal.

He finished his coffee with a sigh, hoping that the ferry wasn't the height of excitement in town or he'd be counting the days until his month of exile was over.

Still looking for something to spark his imagination, he decided to take a stroll down the main street of town, which was quiet at the moment, but was filled with quaint little stores that he was sure were meant to cater to the hordes of tourists that probably stormed the town each summer. After a few hours of browsing shops full of antiques, hand-made soaps, and blown glass fishing net floats, he looked down a side street and saw a sign for a real estate office. If he was going to put the house on the market before he left he might as well start doing some research.

After browsing some of the listings taped to the front window, Kurt entered the office. Several women sat at desks spread throughout the room and the one nearest to him stood up and approached him with her hand held out in greeting.

"Hi, welcome to Peninsula Properties. I'm Jyoti, how can I…oh! You're…you're Kurt Hummel, aren't you?"

Kurt always got a thrill when someone recognized him. Once-upon-a-time he'd had dreams of being a famous Broadway actor, but when he'd changed course after he got his internship at , he'd left behind the expectation that people would someday stop him on the street for his autograph. Then his design career had taken off and after the Vogue article and a few TV appearances he'd been surprised to find that even fashion designers had groupies.

He hadn't expected to find a fan in the rain-soaked Northwest, though.

He smiled at the Indian woman in front of him who was dressed in jeans and a blouse that was a modern spin on a traditional Indian salwar kameez. "Why, yes, yes I am."

"I love your designs so much! And you were _so_ great as the guest judge for those two episodes of _Fashion Face-Off_ last season. I loved your banter with Coco Rocha. You should really get your own show. Everyone on the internet was saying so. I mean, those fashion shows always have good judges, but usually the men are just good for their industry knowledge or snarky comments and aren't, you know, eye candy. With you we got it all: good critiques, personality, _and_ a feast for the eyes. You're likeable and lickable, you know?" Jyoti turned around and called out to the other women in the office. "Ladies, you won't believe who's here!"

Kurt's head was still spinning from Jyoti's comments as the other ladies introduced themselves. Thankfully, the rest of them were a little more calm and restrained, though they had unfortunately put their support behind the phrase "likeable and lickable" and he was afraid that it would be all over Twitter and Tumblr by that evening.

An hour later, Kurt was still in the office, gabbing with his newfound friends. The women peppered him with questions about New York and fashion and which actresses were nightmares to work with before turning to more local matters. They told him where to get the best coffee, which restaurant was a no-no unless he wanted to risk food poisoning, and which shop keepers had the best gossip. He made note of several local spots they suggested he see, dutifully promising to visit the beach near Fort Worden even though he wasn't what anyone would call the outdoorsy type.

"How long are you in town for?" Jyoti asked when he mentioned his hope to get over to Seattle for a few days before he went back to New York.

"Only about three more weeks," he replied. "I inherited a house here, so I came to check it out and put it on the market."

Jyoti's eyes lit up at the mention of a potential listing. "Oh, yeah? Which house?"

"It's a big blue Victorian on Hydrangea Lane."

"I love that house!" Jyoti squealed. "It's got so much potential. It's a shame that it hasn't been kept up. Are you thinking of selling it 'as is' or renovating it first?"

Kurt shook his head. "I won't be here long enough to renovate. I'll probably just put it on the market before I leave."

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know. My best friend works for a construction company that specializes in Victorian renovations. Anderson and Sons has restored most of the Victorians around here and they do an amazing job. Either way, we'd love to have a shot at the listing. No pressure though." Jyoti handed him her business card, which he tucked into his wallet.

"Hey Kurt, what are you doing next weekend?" Emily, one of the other realtors, asked. "A bunch of us are going to the Victorian Festival and we have an extra ticket, if you want to join us."

"I'm intrigued," Kurt responded with a tilt of his head. "Tell me more."

"Basically it's our yearly celebration of the city's Victorian heritage. This year we're going to do the Historic Building tour and then go to the Victorian Ball. You'll get to wear a marvelous costume and dance the quadrille," she cajoled.

"Oh honey, you had me at 'marvelous costume.'" He glanced around as if he was about to impart some big secret. "I think I already have a design for an era-appropriate dinner jacket. I may not be getting any ideas for my next collection, but at this rate my house may be putting me on the path to designing costumes for the next revival of Jekyll & Hyde on Broadway."

They made plans to meet up for the building tour the next weekend and Emily gave Kurt directions to the local fabric shop so that he could buy material for his costume. Fortunately, one of the bedrooms upstairs had already been set up as a sewing room, so he had a sewing machine to work with.

On his way back to the car, Kurt passed by the coffee shop again and he saw a particularly cute, curly-haired guy holding the door open for an extremely pregnant woman. He noted the man's beautiful smile and adorable bow tie—which was covered in little red crabs—with a smile (fashion with a sense of whimsy was one of his favorite things) and couldn't help but hope that Mr. Bow Tie wasn't the one responsible for the lady's delicate condition, because that would leave the door open a just a tiny crack that he might be gay.

He made a mental note to come back to that café again. Maybe Mr. Bow Tie was a regular.

=^..^=

Though he'd never really considered himself a big connoisseur of architecture, Kurt found the historical building tour fascinating. Port Townsend was filled with Victorian style buildings and seeing many of them restored to their former glory was giving him that tingle of inspiration that he'd been missing lately. Regrettably, it wasn't designs for flirty dresses and intricate jackets that were filling his head. Instead, he was picturing his house, the hardwood floors shining, the kitchen rescued from its 1970s prison, the furniture refinished, and the old-lady wallpaper replaced with something beautiful, yet era appropriate.

He really should have been more specific when he'd wished for his creativity and imagination to return.

They finished their tour around three o'clock and Emily told him she'd see him at the American Legion Hall, where the ball was taking place, in three hours. "I take it you're not into being fashionably late? The dance doesn't start until seven o'clock, right?"

Jyoti grinned at him impishly. "Ah, but there's a charity event right before that we can't miss."

"What kind of event?" he asked, suspicious about her cat-who-ate-the-canary smile.

"Nuh-uh. That's a surprise."

Three hours later, Kurt was wishing that he'd asked more questions when he saw the sign for the charity bachelor auction.

"No way," he protested as the girls pushed him up the front steps. "A gay guy at a small town bachelor auction? This has embarrassing sitcom-like disaster written all over it."

"Hey, just be glad we didn't meet you before this week or you'd be right up on the auction block, too," Emily laughed as she maneuvered her bustled skirt through the door.

They arrived just as the auction was about to start, so the room was already filled nearly to capacity. Most people were in costume, obviously set to attend the ball afterwards, but a few were in modern dress. Most of the costumes looked homemade, with varying degrees of success, and Kurt preened a little at the admiring looks his own outfit was receiving. His black jacket was long, reaching about mid-thigh and was unbuttoned at the moment to show off his black-on-black patterned brocade vest, starched white shirt with a high collar, and green silk ascot tied just so. He'd debated long and hard about whether or not to scout out a top hat and cane to complete the look, but in the end had decided to err on the side of understatement.

Jyoti came up beside him, the blue of her gown contrasting nicely with the darker shade of her skin. "I have such a crush on one of the guys that's going to be auctioned off. I've wanted to ask him out for weeks, but I'm such a big chicken. I'm hoping to be brave enough to bid on him tonight."

Kurt extended his bent arm towards her. "I'll lend you some of my New York courage, if you want."

"Perfect," Jyoti said as she smiled and threaded her arm through his. "Come on, let's go buy me a date for the dance."

The auction was surprisingly fun. The crowd was rowdier than Kurt would have expected, and seeing the women whooping it up in their costumes was an entertaining sight. In the spirit of the evening, the men being auctioned off were milking the attention for all they were worth, walking the stage as if it was a catwalk and flirting with the audience in an attempt to bring in the highest bid.

Kurt laughed along with everyone else as a tiny, white-haired woman—who had to be at least in her eighties—made her way to the front of the room to celebrate her winning bid for a 20-something muscle-bound firefighter. The man looked chagrined at the outcome of the auction, but the woman was shaking her clasped hands above her head in triumph, a grin splitting her face from ear-to-ear.

Then, the lights dimmed as the emcee took to the stage to announce the next-to-last auction.

"Ladies, our next gentleman is making his auction debut tonight, so please be gentle. Now, break out the check books and give a warm Victorian Festival welcome to Blaine Anderson!"

The spotlight zeroed in on the red curtain as it parted, illuminating what had to be the best looking guy Kurt had seen since leaving New York. Screw that, he was probably the best looking guy Kurt had seen in years. He had slicked back black hair and eyes that Kurt wanted to spend the next decade or so getting lost in. His compact, lean-but-muscular body was poured into a perfectly tailored period correct tuxedo that he'd paired with a white bow tie and gloves.

It was the bow tie that stirred Kurt's memory and he suddenly recognized the man (Blaine?) as the cute guy from the coffee shop the week before. His breath caught as he realized that Blaine's presence in the bachelor auction probably meant that he wasn't with (or at least wasn't with with) the pregnant woman he'd been holding the door open for.

Kurt was so caught up in admiring the figure before him that it took a moment to register that the bidding had started. He was startled when Jyoti, who was standing beside him towards the back of the room, lifted up her paddle and yelled out "a hundred and fifty!"

He looked at her in surprise, since she hadn't made a single bid all night, but the look on her face told him that Blaine was the one she'd been talking about earlier, the one she had a crush on. A wave of disappointment crashed over him. Of course Blaine was straight. What were the odds that he'd find a great looking, unattached, gay guy out in the boonies?

The bidding continued at a feverish pace and Jyoti soon had to bow out as the amount exceeded what she was able to pay. She settled back in her chair, grumbling under her breath as Kurt patted her arm sympathetically.

Though he knew it was a lost cause, Kurt still couldn't keep his eyes off of Blaine, who had looked amused at first, but now seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable as two women got into a bidding war over him, pushing the dollar amount well over the previous top auction total of three hundred.

Kurt watched as Blaine began to squirm, the pinched expression on his face saying that he wanted to be anywhere except up on that stage. Kurt shifted in his chair as the desire to help welled up within him.

"Two thousand!"

The crowd gasped at the bid and everyone swiveled around to see who was willing to pay such an extravagant amount.

"Going once, going twice. And the winner is number 21." The announcer almost tripped over his words in his hurry to end the auction before the generous bidder changed his mind.

Kurt blinked as one of the spotlights swept over the tables before coming to stop on him. The light blinded him for a second and his pulse began to race as he slowly dropped his hand down to his side. The traitorous hand that had, just moments before, been holding the paddle numbered 21 high above his head.


	2. Chapter 2

If Kurt hadn't been completely mortified by the fact that he'd just unconsciously bid on a guy at a bachelor auction (seriously, how did something like that even happen? It was as if his hand had acted on its own, like in one of those "man gets a hand transplant, but it's the hand of an evil murderer, so he starts killing people" horror movies, and somehow convinced his vocal chords and mouth to join in on the hijinks) he would've been highly amused by the shocked looks of those around him.

Emily was frozen in place, her drink stalled halfway to her mouth. Jyoti's brow was furrowed in confusion, her gaze flickering back and forth quickly from Kurt to the stage. The people at the table next to him were looking scandalized, though he didn't know if it was because he'd just bid on another man or because he'd done it for two thousand frickin' dollars, which was more than double than the previous bid.

Stupid evil free-thinking hand.

"Time to pay the piper, Daddy Warbucks," Emily whispered loudly in his ear, giving him a little push on the shoulder to get him going. He smiled weakly and tried to look nonchalant as he edged his way through the crowd. "He's from New York City," he heard Emily confide to one of the scandalized women at the next table, as if that explained everything, which apparently it did, because the woman gave her a look of understanding and smiled at Kurt as he passed.

After what seemed like an hour, Kurt finally reached the front of the room. The announcer greeted him and asked his name before launching into a spiel about how his donation was much appreciated and how it had put them way over their goal for the year. That announcement finally woke the crowd up from their shock and they applauded loudly, a few even cheering. Kurt was sure he heard Emily give a catcall, but he chose to ignore it.

Throughout the whole thing, Kurt had been afraid to look at Blaine, not wanting to see his disappointment or anger at who had won the auction. Finally, though, the announcer told him to claim his prize, so he went to stand next to the stairs leading off the front of the stage and held out his hand to help Blaine down, as all the winners had done before him. He felt Blaine's cool hand slide into his and he jumped slightly at the electric shock that zipped through his body. Startled, he looked up and their eyes met. Blaine gave him a wide smile that alleviated some of his fears and allowed some of the tension to leave his shoulders.

They skirted the room until they reached the wide double doors and escaped out into the hallway. Once the doors had closed behind them, Kurt took a deep breath and turned to face Blaine. It was only when he felt a tug on his arm that he realized they were still holding hands. He let go with a gasp and ran his now sweating palm down his pants leg.

He raised his head to begin his apology, but was struck dumb before he could get a single syllable out. God, he was even more stunning up close. His eyes were a warm amber with green flecks that Kurt wished he could spend hours staring into and his eyelashes looked like they came from one of those mascara ads where you were supposed to believe it all came from a bottle, but you really knew that such volume could only come from extensions or Photoshop. His hair was tamed by product into a dapper, old-world style that should have made him look ridiculous, but instead just made him resemble a matinee idol from a bygone era. Kurt remembered the loose curls that he'd seen at the coffee shop and couldn't decide which style he liked better.

Blaine shifted a bit under his examination and cleared his throat and Kurt realized that he was staring. He dropped his eyes to the ground as a wild blush washed over his face.

"Hi, I'm Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

Kurt looked up to find Blaine smiling at him again with a hand outstretched. He reached out and shook it tentatively. "Kurt Hummel. I'm so sorry about that." He waved his other hand wildly towards the room they'd just come from. "I don't know what came over me. I guess I just got caught up in all the excitement. You don't have to worry, I'm not going to hold you to actually going through with the date. I know you'd much rather have had one of the ladies win. I'll just pay the cashier and we can go our separate ways."

"Are you kidding? You saved me!" Blaine exclaimed, moving in a few steps closer. "I got the feeling those women at the end were expecting more than dinner and a movie. They probably would have been really angry to learn that their hard earned money was wasted on someone who doesn't play for their team."

Kurt wondered if it would be inappropriate to do the Snoopy dance, right there in the middle of the hall, in celebration. "What? You're gay?" he asked, trying to mask his excitement. Blaine nodded. "But…how do they not know that?" He lowered his voice to a whisper as he shot a furtive glance around them. "Are you still in the closet?"

Blaine laughed. "No, not since I was 14. But I haven't lived here for very long and I work a lot and haven't really made any friends that are close enough that the subject came up very much."

"And you didn't think to mention it when they asked you to be a slice of beefcake in their bachelor auction?" Kurt snickered in disbelief.

"One of my assistant managers was supposed to do it, but he came down with the flu, so I was a last minute replacement. Besides, it's just supposed to be for fun, not an actual date. Those two women seemed to be taking it a little too seriously. I could kinda feel them undressing me with their eyes."

"Well, no one can say that they don't have good taste," Kurt said flirtatiously, his confidence buoyed by Blaine's reactions so far.

A glint appeared in Blaine's eyes that looked very promising, but before he could respond, the doors behind them opened up and people began to pour out of the auction space. They stepped back against the wall to get out of the way and Kurt sighed as he saw his new friends approaching, zeroed in on him like missiles locked on a target.

"Okay, spill," Emily commanded as soon as she reached his side. "What was that?"

Kurt dipped his head, still embarrassed at his impetuous bid. "I thought those women were going to come to blows over him, so I decided to come to the rescue," he replied, hoping he sounded breezy and casual. "I blame chivalrous impulses brought on by the period clothing. A good costume always helped me get into character when I used to do theater."

"My hero," Blaine cooed as he laid his head on Kurt's shoulder and tilted it back to look up into Kurt's face as he batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

Blaine's face was so close to his that Kurt could clearly see the pattern of honey, amber, and dark brown that made his eyes so hypnotizing. He caught the light scent of raspberries and an earthy cologne that he didn't recognize and couldn't stop thinking about how their lips would meet if he just tilted his head to the right a few inches. He had no doubt that Blaine's lips would be soft and gentle, but gentle in that hungry, can't-get-enough-of-you-but-we've-just-met-so-I'm- trying-hard-to-be-a-gentlemen type of way, not in a—

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted Kurt's musings on Blaine's potential kissing style. He raised his eyes to find five pair of eyes watching him intently with various expressions of amusement. He blinked a few times to clear the remaining cobwebs before making introductions.

Kurt could see that Jyoti was bursting with questions and he was bracing himself for the onslaught when the first strains of music came from around the corner as the ball started. Anxious to put off the interrogation (and the testing of Blaine's claim that he wasn't hiding in the closet), Kurt clapped his hands excitedly and ushered everyone towards the doors with a shooing motion.

The ballroom was much larger than he'd imagined it; more ballroom dance competition size than small banquet hall. Strings of delicate lights were draped everywhere like garland, mixed in with greenery. He didn't know how period correct such a lighting scheme was, but it was charming all the same. Chairs lined the wall directly to their left and the refreshment table ran along the right side, filled with towering arrangements of flowers and trays of food. A group of eight musicians with classical instruments was set up on the stage at the far end. The large dance floor was covered with couples promenading to the music in what was, according to Emily, the traditional welcoming dance.

As the people danced by, Kurt noted the costumes, nodding approvingly at the elaborateness and refinement of some of the designs worn by people who had skipped the auction. Even the catering staff and musicians had gotten in on the fun, wearing costumes appropriate to their roles.

It was also Blaine's first Victorian Ball, so the two of them hung back to get a lay of the land, watching as the dancers began to gather in groups of four in what seemed like some elegant ancestor to square dancing. Square dancing was one style of dance that Kurt had never bothered to learn, but he'd never been one to back down from a challenge, so he was quick to agree when Emily asked him if he wanted to dance.

"Stumbling your way through the quadrilles is half the fun of coming to the ball," she told him as Jyoti and Blaine joined them to complete their group. "Jyoti and I will walk you through it. It'll be a piece of cake after trying to teach ballet to kindergarteners day-after-day."

As the girls taught them the pattern of the dance, Kurt couldn't help but keep sneaking glances at Blaine, who was smiling and laughing like he was having the best time of his entire life. Kurt wondered if he was that enthusiastic about everything he tried, because the whole-hearted commitment he was showing to the dance could prove to be intriguing if also shown elsewhere, in like, say, the bedroom.

The song ended and Blaine and Kurt were quickly claimed by different partners for the next dance. That cycle repeated for the next half hour, with Kurt only catching glimpses of Blaine as they moved around the floor.

Finally, the musicians took a break and everyone moved to the sides of the room to rest. Several of the women dropped into empty chairs so that they could slip their shoes off for a moment.

Blaine appeared at Kurt's side and pulled off his gloves, tucking them into the front pocket of his coat. "Ladies, would anyone care for some refreshments? Kurt and I will be happy to brave the crowd at the punchbowl for you."

Kurt nearly giggled at the formality and charm of Blaine's demeanor. He wasn't sure if it was all an act because of the costumes or if it was just the way he normally acted (Kurt suspected the latter), but he found it gallant and refreshing. The last time he'd gone out to a club in New York, a guy had come up to him at the bar and, without preamble, had yelled in his ear that he'd noticed Kurt's bulge in his tight pants and that they should make their way to the back room and go "ball's deep for a little hot beef injection" because he'd love to "ride that fire pole."

And they said romance was dead.

The girls put their orders in for drinks and Kurt followed Blaine to the other side of the room, side-stepping an older couple that was demonstrating the steps to an upcoming dance for a group of younger people. Just like at any party, people were gathered around the food to talk, so space next to the refreshment table was limited. There didn't seem to be any kind of official line, so when Kurt saw a spot open up in front of some of the dessert trays, he dove in, pulling Blaine with him.

They eyed the colorful concoctions, trying to decide which to try. While Kurt was deciding between little individual lemon meringue pies and what looked to be chocolate truffles dusted with gold, Blaine grabbed a small silver spatula and gingerly served himself from a tray of inch wide squares covered in pink and yellow frosting.

He balanced his plate in one hand as he broke off a piece of the treat and bit into it. "Wow, this is amazing," he said, his eyebrows rising to form perky little triangles.

"Is it cake?" Kurt asked hopefully, really needing a sugar rush right about then.

"I'm not sure what it is. Here…" Blaine broke off another piece and held it up to Kurt's mouth.

Kurt's breath hitched as he slowly leaned forward, opening his mouth so that Blaine could feed him the bite. He suppressed a little moan as the sweetness burst over his tongue and told himself that hunger was the reason why his legs suddenly felt wobbly, like cooked spaghetti. It was definitely not because the cutest guy in the room had just hand fed him. Despite all his fantasies, fueled by too many unrealistic romantic movies over the years, no one had ever done that for him before. It was just as intimate as he always imagined it.

Kurt watched as Blaine's tongue darted out to lick at a spot of frosting clinging to one corner of his mouth, his thoughts taking a distinctly R-rated turn. He imagined that tongue drifting over the seam of his mouth, begging to be let inside or sliding over the muscles of his stomach as it traveled unrelentingly southward, swirling and licking as it…

Woah. Public place. Public place.

"So, you said you were new to town?" Kurt prompted with just a hint of gravel in his voice, suddenly needing to occupy his mind with thoughts that were less likely to cause an embarrassing physical reaction.

"Yeah, I've been here for just a few months, actually." Blaine began scooping an assortment of desserts onto his plate, presumable to take back to the girls. "My father owns a big construction company with branches all over the country and he's molding me to take over one day by sending me around to manage different divisions and offices. I go for a year, learn all the aspects of that part of the business and then move on. I've got about nine more months here in Port Townsend."

Kurt would have never guessed the construction business. He tried not to let the surprise show in his voice. "Which division's here?"

"Restoration and renovation. Most of Anderson and Sons is devoted to new construction, but we have a few offices that specialize in sprucing up old buildings."

The name of Blaine's company tickled at Kurt's memory, until he remembered that it was the business that Jyoti had recommended he use if he decided to stay in town and renovate his house. An image of Blaine standing in his living room wearing a hard hat and a tool belt (and nothing else) hit Kurt hard and he tried to not let it show on his face.

With the help of a tray provided by the caterers, they managed to get all the food and drinks over to the girls without dropping anything. Before long, the musicians returned from their break and did a quick re-tuning before beginning the next song. Kurt smiled when he recognized it as the waltz from Sleeping Beauty. He began to hum along quietly, his body swaying in time with the music.

"Would you like to dance?"

He turned to find Blaine, standing with one gloved hand outstretched, the other folded formally behind his back.

Kurt set his glass on a small table and bowed his head. "That would be lovely, kind sir."

He set his hand in Blaine's and followed his lead to the dance floor. They passed a group of older men whose neatly trimmed beards, waistcoats, and canes made them look like they were all auditioning for the role of the tycoon from the Monopoly game and Kurt held his breath, expecting some comments or at least a scornful look when they realized that he and Blaine were going to dance together. No such reaction came, though. He simply got a regal nod from the man in the front with the monocle and impeccably styled mustache.

When they reached the center of the dance floor, Kurt set his free hand on Blaine's shoulder and Blaine wrapped an arm around his waist. The inner teenager in Kurt sighed ecstatically that they were so in sync that they didn't even have to talk about who was going to lead. As they began to move, Kurt got a glimpse of his friends on the sidelines and grinned at their open mouthed expressions of shock. If they'd had any lingering doubts about which team Blaine was on they were probably gone now.

"You know, the waltz was still considered scandalous in Victorian times," Kurt said as Blaine turned them deftly to prevent a collision with another couple. "People touching more than just hands when they danced? Quel horreur!"

"Well, if we're going to be disreputable anyways, I say we go all in," Blaine murmured as his arm tightened around Kurt, drawing their bodies flush together.

"If anything's worth doing, it's worth doing well," Kurt gasped breathlessly as he felt Blaine's thigh brush against his. He tightened his hand on Blaine's shoulder and smiled, one eyebrow raised, as their eyes locked.

As the song continued, Kurt was struck by what a good dancer Blaine was. He had rhythm and an inherent grace that made it seem like they were floating across the floor. It wasn't often that a guy their age knew how to waltz well. Kurt knew he wasn't too shabby a dancer himself—years of musical theater training had made him at least familiar with, if not fluent in, many styles of dance—but he had to admit that Blaine was better and wondered where he'd learned.

The embarrassed hunky bachelor from the auction danced by just then, his tiny elderly partner beaming up at him from the vicinity of his belly button. Kurt had to turn his head away so that they didn't see the chuckle he couldn't hold in. He hadn't seen a height difference in a couple like that since his friend Rachel and step-brother Finn in high school.

"I like your ascot." Blaine's eyes flickered down to the green silk, then back up to Kurt's face. "You look like you should be in an Oscar Wilde film."

"Thanks!" Kurt beamed, always happy to receive compliments on his work. "I designed and made the whole ensemble."

"Really?" Blaine said with surprise. "I'm impressed. I had to rent mine."

Kurt lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "I'm a fashion designer back in New York, so this is like candy to me."

Blaine asked him a few questions about his job and then they fell into a companionable silence. Kurt, for one, was glad for the moment to collect himself. He'd never felt such an instant connection to anyone before. Blaine was funny and warm and charming, and he drew Kurt in, like a moth to a flame. He'd always been pretty reserved and most of the people he was closest too had huge, outgoing personalities that complimented his more introspective ways.

His interest in Blaine was on many levels, though. For perhaps the first time in his life, Kurt felt an instant overwhelming physical attraction as well as an emotional one.

Unlike his peers in high school, who'd spun in and out of different relationships faster than he'd rotated out his seasonal wardrobes, he'd been very much uncomfortable with the more physical sides of sexuality. Maybe it'd been due to him not being comfortable in his own skin or as a reaction to the stigma often attached to gay men, but he'd been much more interested in fantasizing about the romance and emotional connection that a relationship might offer. He'd lived and breathed romantic movies and musicals and stubbornly used them as a guide for how he pursued love.

Which, of course, had led to disaster over-and-over again, since real life was nothing at all like a romantic comedy.

By the time he'd reached college, he'd developed a more realistic view of the carnal side of life, but he'd still been with his first boyfriend for over six months before he'd let things progress to anything that he'd call "sex". He hadn't moved all that much faster with any of the guys he'd dated since, either.

Even with several years of practice under his belt, he'd never become entirely comfortable with physical intimacy. He had no doubt about his abilities to sing a high F or spot the next fashion trends, but that self-assuredness didn't extend to his abilities in bed. He was too much in his head, wondering if he looked silly or stupid, hoping that the other person was enjoying what he was doing, or planning his next move. Sex was exhausting, and not just physically, and he was often just as happy to have a spirited discussion about the latest Tony award winning musical.

With Blaine, he found that while, yes, he'd love to get his opinion on the latest revival of A Chorus Line and he couldn't wait to find out his stance on trashy reality TV, his more immediate desire was to rip Blaine's clothes off. He didn't know if it was all about Blaine or partly a symptom of the uncertainty he felt about the career crossroads he found himself at, but suddenly he wanted it and he wanted it bad.

The song ended and the musicians started right into another waltz, so Kurt and Blaine kept dancing, neither one of them making any motion to change partners or leave the floor. They did, however, move towards the back to a less crowded section of the room, so that they could pay more attention to each other and less to the couples around them.

Kurt had the urge to run his hand through Blaine's hair to release the curls he'd seen before, so instead he tightened it against Blaine's shoulder. "I've seen you before, you know."

"Really? Where?" Blaine responded to the increased pressure on his shoulder by running his hand up and down Kurt's back.

"Last week at the coffee shop downtown. You were wearing a bow tie with crabs on it and I may have planned out our entire lives together, from first date to side-by-side burial plots in the few seconds it took me to walk by. You're going to look spectacular on our fifth anniversary trip to Paris, just so you know," Kurt assured him with a teasing smile.

Blaine laughed, his eyes looking too big for his face as he looked up at Kurt in the dim light. "One of my friends bought me that tie last Christmas. Said I'd need it in order to blend in out here." His smile dropped away and he gazed at Kurt intently. "I wish I'd seen you. We could have met earlier and gotten a head start on that first date."

Just then, Kurt felt a tap on his shoulder and he glanced back to find one of the women from the auction looking at them with a determined look on her face. "May I cut in?" she asked, talking to Kurt, but with ravenous eyes pinned on Blaine.

Caught off guard, Kurt loosened his grip on Blaine's shoulder and went to step back. "Oh, I—"

"I'm sorry," Blaine cut in, tossing the woman a kind, but distant smile, "But we decided to make tonight our date for the auction, so I'm going to have to say no." Blaine looked back to Kurt with a gleam in his eye and sang "A gentleman doesn't leave his escort. It isn't fair, it isn't nice."

The woman smiled tightly and stormed off, but Kurt was too busy looking at Blaine approvingly to even bother watching her go. "Love a guy who can break out Guys and Dolls with no notice. I'm impressed."

"I thought that line was more appropriate than 'And blow on some other guy's dice,'" Blaine grinned.

Kurt choked on his laughter. "Wait, can we please call her back so that I can see her face when you sing that? Please?"

Blaine pulled him in closer and dipped him a bit over one arm. "Do you really want to stop dancing to go find her?"

Kurt's heart was racing a mile-a-minute as he slowly shook his head, never breaking the eye contact between them.

Several songs later, after hushed getting-to-know you conversations and long silent gazes, Kurt was swaying in Blaine's arms in the corner of the room, his cheek resting on Blaine's shoulder. His limbs were pleasantly heavy and his back was warm from where Blaine was rubbing a hand back-and-forth slowly. He was drifting in a haze of contentment and desire when a voice broke him out of his reverie.

"Kurt, we're going over to that bar on Main. Do you want to come with?"

Kurt lifted his head to find the girls standing a few feet away, all trying (and failing miserably) to hide the smirks on their faces.

"No, I think I'll stay a bit longer," he said to Emily, who'd asked the question.

Knowing looks flickered across their faces and they all called out their goodbyes as they walked away. Kurt watched them go and felt a blush rising over his cheeks when he distinctly heard "but I want to watch them some more. Maybe they'll kiss" come from somewhere in the group. Blaine snorted and tightened his arms around Kurt.

Just as the girls were about to reach the door, Kurt saw Jyoti glance back at them. "I'll be right back," he whispered to Blaine as he untangled himself. He followed her out into the hall, calling out her name when he got close. She turned back, a questioning look on her face.

"About the auction and everything… I'm sorry. I know you liked him," he said, trying to gauge her reaction to the events of the evening.

Jyoti grinned and patted his arm comfortingly. "That's alright. It's not like I had a chance with him anyways. Unless…he doesn't happen to swing both ways, does he?" she asked hopefully.

Kurt tried not to look possessive as he shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"Story of my life," she sighed. "Oh well, c'est la vie, right?" She rose up on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. "Don't leave that gorgeous guy alone for too long. We need to live vicariously through you, since we all struck out tonight."

He waved to her as she left and while he stood there he felt someone come up behind him. Strong arms encircled his waist as Blaine pulled him back against his chest.

"I was thinking maybe we could go down the street to the all-night diner. Maybe talk some more?" Kurt felt Blaine rise up on his tip toes so that he could rest his chin on Kurt's shoulder.

He turned in Blaine's arms and looked at him solemnly as he gathered his courage. "Actually, I was hoping for something a little more…private."

Blaine swallowed heavily, the movement of his Adam's apple visible above his collar. "My apartment isn't far," he said tentatively.

"Perfect," Kurt replied, his voice steady and confident. "Let's go to your place."

=^..^=

It made Kurt feel better to see that Blaine's hands were shaking a little as he went to unlock his front door. It was good to know that he wasn't the only one nervous and excited about what was most likely going to happen once they got inside.

Blaine ushered him through the door and turned to hang both of their coats up in the hallway closet as Kurt turned into the living room.

"Do you want anything to drink? I have a nice red wine that I've been meaning to open," Blaine asked, taking a few steps towards the kitchen.

Kurt agreed to the wine and wandered around the small room, looking over the books and decorations. While Blaine understandably had a lot of books on construction and architecture, he also had several anthologies of musical theater and biographies of musicians. Besides the books, there weren't a lot of personal items in the room, just a few photos, an iPad, and an antique camera sitting on the end table, next to a small pile of photographs.

He leafed through the photos and saw that they were black and white shots of modern Port Townsend. He wondered if Blaine liked photography in general or if it was working with the old style cameras that interested him and he made a mental note to ask about it later.

On the bookshelf was a picture frame holding a photo of four people gathered around a Christmas tree. Since Blaine was in the photo, he could only assume that it was of his family. Everyone looked happy, if a bit reserved, and Kurt's eyes lingered for a second on the man, who was probably a brother, standing next to Blaine. He seemed familiar, though Kurt couldn't place where he knew him from.

"The apartment came furnished," Blaine said as he returned carrying two glasses of wine. "It's just not worth trying to haul furniture all over the country every 12 months."

They sipped their drinks and talked a little about the dance and Kurt's friends, neither one of them sitting down. Instead, they both prowled around the room separately, nervous energy making it impossible to even try to relax.

Finally, the wine was gone and the time for pretense was over. Blaine set his glass down on the bookshelf and Kurt, on the other side of the room, set his down on the entertainment center. Then, in synchronized movements that would have been admired by Cirque du Soleil, they rushed towards each other, meeting in the center of the room as their lips crashed together.

It wasn't a soft kiss. It didn't begin tentatively and chastely and then escalate slowly from there. It began immediately with clashing tongues and desperate motions. It started with the dial at eleven. It was everything Kurt had imagined it would be and more.

Hands grasped and clutched, pulling each other in closer, closer, closer. Blaine bit lightly at Kurt's bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity straight to his burgeoning erection. He responded by pulling Blaine's shirt up in the back until he was touching bare skin, the softness making his fingertips tingle.

Blaine pulled away and Kurt gave a cry of protest that became a groan of pleasure as lips soon pressed against the base of his neck, the tip of Blaine's tongue reaching out to given little kitten licks at the sensitive skin there.

Momentum pushed Kurt back a step and he felt something hit the back of his legs. The part of his brain that hadn't been reduced to thinking in single words like "more" and "harder" distantly suggested that it was the coffee table. Whatever it was, it had appeared at just the right time, because the feeling of Blaine's mouth sucking on the side of his neck was making his knees weak. Kurt lowered himself onto the wooden top, moving slowly so as to not dislodge Blaine, who followed him down, placing a knee beside Kurt's hip as he leaned forward to mouth back up towards his face.

Suddenly, an ominous cracking sound came from beneath them and they abruptly found themselves dropped to the floor. Kurt tensed up, automatically bracing for pain, but when none came he opened his eyes and glanced around to see bits of splintered wood surrounding them. Stunned, he looked up and met Blaine's equally dumbfounded expression.

Laughter bubbled up until he could no longer contain it. "Oh my god. Are you okay?"

Blaine was chuckling, too by then and pushed himself to his feet before extending a hand down. "Yes. Are you?"

Kurt nodded as he let Blaine help him up. They looked back at the ruined table, its top still intact, but three legs now detached, one of them split right down the middle.

"Your table! I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry. I know a guy who can fix it."

Another giggle escaped Kurt's lips. "I imagine you do." He reached out a hand and slid a finger under the waistband of Blaine's trousers, rubbing back and forth against the material of his tucked in shirt. "I don't want to be presumptuous, but I think we'd be much safer if we moved this into the bedroom."

Blaine stared at him with a slightly dazed expression. "Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt awoke in stages. The musical sounds of a chorus of birds greeting the morning registered first, but he nestled his head deeper into his pillow and let sleep pull him back under for another few minutes. Before long, though, the feeling of being overly warm began to reach the more awake parts of his brain. He automatically went to kick his feet to throw off his comforter, but found that his legs were weighed down.

The resulting confusion drug him a few steps closer to being fully awake and finally one eye opened slightly. He blinked sleepily and looked down to find an arm draped over his chest, a bump further down showing that a leg was similarly flung over his own underneath the covers. He was on his back towards the middle of the bed and Blaine was cuddled up to his left side, his face nestled into Kurt's neck, blowing hot air against it, and his left arm and leg doing a great job keeping Kurt immobile.

If it wasn't for his arm, which had gone to sleep at some point during the night and was now a dead weight attached to his body, and an increasingly urgent need to pee, Kurt would have been content to stay there longer, reveling in blissful contentment.

But there was an arm to revive and a bladder empty, so instead, he reached out with his free hand to brush against Blaine's neck, hoping to wake him, but Blaine just squirmed under his touch and rolled away, his mouth smacking a bit as he settled into his new position. Kurt made a note of his reaction, wondering if Blaine was ticklish. He was going to have to test out that theory later.

He hauled himself out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom, cursing the painful prickling feeling in his arm and one leg as blood rushed back in. After taking care of his more urgent needs, he splashed some water on his face and stared at the mirror. His hair was a wreck (a hand sliding up the back of his neck, fingers shaking as they clutched his hair), the skin on his cheeks and chin was slightly reddened (rough five o'clock shadow grazing against his sensitive skin, followed by soft, nibbling lips), and there was a distinctly mouth-shaped mark low on his collar bone (pleasure sparking through every nerve as the insistent mouth sucked harder and harder before a tongue poked out to gently lave the spot).

He looked thoroughly debauched and he loved it.

Last night had been a revelation. Was that how amazing sex normally was for other people? Had he been doing it wrong all this time?

He used a new toothbrush he found in one of the drawers and ran his hands through his hair a few times to calm the wildest spikes before heading back into the bedroom, where he pulled a pair of bark blue boxer shorts and heather grey sweatpants out of a dresser and put them on.

Blaine was still asleep and he looked so warm and tousled that Kurt just wanted to fall back into bed beside him. Instead, he let his growling stomach lead him out to the kitchen, where he began to search the refrigerator and cupboards. He found the ingredients for spinach and cheese omelets and crepes with fresh fruit, so he pulled out a few pans and got right to work.

He was cooking and humming one of the waltzes from the night before when he felt a presence behind him. He looked back to find Blaine standing in the doorway, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants.

Kurt wanted to thrust his bottom lip out like a toddler who was told he couldn't have ice cream when he saw that Blaine had put a shirt on before coming out. "Hungry?" he called out over his shoulder as he slipped the omelet he'd just finished onto a plate and slid it into the oven to keep warm.

Blaine walked over and pressed his lips to Kurt's bare shoulder before grabbing two glasses from the cupboard and pouring some orange juice. "Starving. Somehow I seem to have worked up quite the appetite."

"Hmmm…it must have been all the dancing," Kurt said with a smirk as he poured the rest of his egg mixture into the pan to cook. As soon as he let go of the handle, Blaine grabbed his waist and spun him around so that they were facing each other. He caught Kurt's eye for just a second before pulling him in for a steamy kiss that would have convinced Kurt to abandon his cooking efforts if his stomach hadn't rumbled loudly at that exact moment.

"No, no, no," Kurt said against Blaine's lips, reluctant to break the connection. "Food first."

Blaine gave an exaggerated pout before heaving a sigh. "Fine, but as a penalty you have to teach me how to flip an omelet."

Their meal was served a little later than planned, since Kurt had to whip up the makings for another omelet when the first one Blaine tried to flip ended up half in the pan and half on the floor at his feet. Blaine had sheepishly admitted defeat and moved over to make the last few crepes while Kurt finished up the replacement.

Comfortable and fun were never words Kurt would have used to describe any of his previous first morning afters. Even with his long term boyfriends he'd felt the need to retreat and spend some time alone to regroup and think about what had just occurred. With Blaine, the event seemed even bigger—a seismic shift instead of an opened doorway—but the need to pull into himself wasn't there. He had no desire to leave and from what he could tell, Blaine felt the same way.

They sat at the small table, eating their food and giggling over memories from the night before. As they spoke, their hands drifted slowly across the table until they joined in the middle. Trying to eat one-handed slowed their progress a little, but neither one was willing to let go.

The slip of Blaine's fingers against his was distracting and Kurt lost track of the conversation several times as a rekindled heat low in his belly slowly spread up his chest.

"We should do the dishes," he suggested half-heartedly after they'd both pushed their plates away.

"We could do that. Or we could…" Blaine's eyebrows raised up, forming the perky little triangles that Kurt was already starting to love.

"What?" Kurt asked innocently, wanting to make Blaine work for it, at least a little.

Blaine pulled on Kurt's hand just hard enough to coax him out of his seat and tugged him forward until he was sitting in Blaine's lap. He then wrapped one arm around Kurt's waist and ran the other up his back until he grasped the back of Kurt's head.

"Oh!" Kurt said with a sly smile as he learned forward for a kiss. " _That."_

=^..^=

The air in Blaine's bedroom was heavy and warm and Kurt thought for a second about opening the window up a crack, but that would require getting out of bed, which would in turn require working limbs, which he just didn't have to offer at the moment.

He turned on his side so that he could look at Blaine, whose skin was still glistening with sweat and flushed with exertion. Blaine looked back and grinned. Kurt smiled in response, but his smile didn't last long. A wave of sadness crashed over him and it must have shown, because Blaine immediately sat up and grabbed his hand.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Blaine asked, concern furrowing his brow.

Kurt played with the edge of the sheet that was lying across his stomach. "I just remembered that I've only got another two and a half weeks here. This isn't me, you know. I don't jump into bed with someone after knowing them for only one night and I don't do short term affairs."

"So are you saying that you don't want us to see each other anymore while you're here?" Blaine asked as he let go of Kurt and leaned forward to drop his chin onto folded hands.

"No! No, that's not what I meant," Kurt reassured him hurriedly. "Unless that's what you want?" Blaine shook his head emphatically. "Good. I just meant that this is kind of new territory for me and I'm not sure how to handle it."

"I'm no expert either, but two weeks is better than nothing, right? I say we just try and make the most of the time we have left." Blaine looked over at the laptop sitting on the desk in the corner as if he was trying to remember something. "I'm pretty sure I've got a full work schedule and appointments in the evening for the next two days, but maybe Wednesday we can get together? Have a real first date?"

Kurt was delighted at the suggestion. "I think I can pencil you in."

"Great!" Blaine exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. "Of course I don't want to skip over today. Since Victorian clothing might make for an awkward walk back to your car I think it's best if you wait until later, when less people are out on the street."

"Oh, you think so, do you?" Kurt raised an amused eyebrow at Blaine's not-so-selfless proposal.

"Mmmm," Blaine nodded. "I'd give you a ride, but my car is still over there too. I have a business dinner tonight, but I'm free until four o'clock or so. We could talk, watch some TV —"

"And maybe go for round three?"

"And maybe go for round three."

=^..^=

Kurt's step was light as he skipped up his front steps, careful to avoid the left side of the second stair, which made a horrible squealing noise when stepped on. He'd spent the whole day with Blaine and had somehow miraculously made it all the way back to his car and then home without anyone seeing him. A walk of shame (though there was absolutely zero shame involved. Was there a better phrase that described the return home after a glorious, regret-free and pleasure-filled night and day?) in period clothing was not something he'd ever hear the end of if any of his new friends saw it.

As he opened the front door, he reached out and touched a fragment of peeling paint. He'd seen some incredible restoration jobs in the past few days and he couldn't help but imagine what Blaine and his crew could do for his run-down inheritance.

If Kurt was honest with himself, the thought of renovating his house had taken root as soon as he'd learned who Blaine was and had only strengthened alongside their amazing connection. Now, in the clear light (okay, rainy dusk) of day he'd expected the idea to seem silly and impulsive, and maybe it did, but it also seemed right and inevitable, like the path he was meant to be on had suddenly been shown to him.

He spent the rest of the evening pouring over his bank accounts and estimated renovation costs he'd found on the internet. If he used all the money that his great-aunt had left him he'd only have to dip a little into his savings (even less if he was able to resist the high quality, even higher price tag, vintage wallpapers and furniture he was sure were waiting to sing their siren's song to him.

With a decisive click, he closed the lid of his laptop and headed upstairs to get ready for bed and maybe catch a few episodes of some incredibly trashy TV show.

The next morning, he ticked off the first item in his project plan by making an appointment at Blaine's office under the name "KH Designs." As soon as he hung up, he dialed another number.

"Kurt Hummel Designs, leather and fetish department. What kink can we help you dress today?"

Kurt rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Santana, please tell me that isn't how you always answer the phone when I'm not there."

"Well, well, well, if it isn't fashion designer Barbie checking in on the minions toiling back at the office," Santana drawled. "How goes the trek into the wild Pacific Northwest? Been chased by any hungry bears yet?"

"I haven't really gotten out to see any wildlife yet."

"Not the kind of bears I was talking about, sweet cheeks. I figured if there were any gays out there in the woods with you they'd be the lumberjack type."

For the life of him, Kurt couldn't remember why he'd thought talking to Santana would be a good idea. "No, no bears. Of any type. Listen, I just called to tell you that I think I'm going to take your advice and stay out here longer."

"Kurt, are you all right?" Santana's question sounded more amused than worried.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because you just said 'I'm going to take your advice' and lightning didn't come down to strike either one of us. I never thought I'd live to see the day. So how much longer are you going to stay?"

"The whole six months." There was only stunned silence on the other end of the line, so he rushed onward. "I've decided to renovate the house before I put it on the market."

"Spending five months renovating a house? Not exactly what I meant when I said you needed to relax."

"No, this will be good." Kurt shook his head, even though she couldn't see it. "I can get my creative juices flowing with the renovations and decorating. Blaine says…"

"Whoa. Hold up a second. Blaine? I'm sensing your creative juices aren't the only fluids about to be flowing up there. Tell me more," she demanded.

"Ew. And no," he said emphatically. "He just manages the company that I'm going to hire to do the renovations. Nothing more to tell."

"Oh please, if you think I buy that for a minute then you've obviously forgotten about my psychic Mexican third eye. It sees all, Kurt."

"I'm going to come back to New York for a few days soon to pack up some more clothes and stuff," he said, blithely ignoring her, "but I won't come into the office, so if you need me for anything we'll make plans to meet up. I've got to go now. I have cookies that need to come out of the oven."

He pulled the phone away from his ear before she had a chance to respond, but as he reached out to end the call he heard her yell "The third eye sees all, Kurt! All!"

Santana always did like getting the last word in any conversation.

=^..^=

Blaine Anderson desperately wanted coffee.

Not the made-with-last-month's-filter sludge that his assistant insisted on trying to force on him every morning, but the rich, heavenly brew served by his favorite café in town. He normally stopped there every day on his way into work for his morning dose, but today he'd had an early conference call with his father and the line had been too long.

Now it was almost ten o'clock and he felt like a junkie going through withdrawal.

He only had one more appointment on his calendar, though, and then he'd be able to cut out for lunch early. Thinking that maybe Kurt was free to join him, he pulled out his phone to send a quick text. It'd been more than two whole days since they'd seen each other. They'd exchanged several texts and had spoken on the phone Monday night, but Blaine had been too slammed to get away for any face time. Maybe it wasn't just coffee that his body was craving.

Was it possible to become addicted to someone so quickly? Because if it was, then he was definitely addicted to one Kurt Hummel.

Blaine had been captivated from the second the spotlight had found Kurt at the crowded auction. His pale skin had glowed under the lights and Blaine couldn't take his eyes off him. From the top of his gravity defying hair to the bottom of his elaborate vest (which had been as much of his body that Blaine could see at the time) everything about him was enthralling. Blaine had instantly felt like he was in one of those corny musicals where the music swelled when the main couple first laid eyes on each other.

He hadn't been excited about appearing in the auction. He was happy to do his part for charity and wasn't afraid of not getting any bids (he was observant enough to know that several women of his acquaintance would probably try to win him), but Port Townsend was the fourth place he'd lived in as many years and he was long over the constant cycle of getting to know people. He couldn't count the number of dinner parties with new co-workers, uncomfortable flirtations, "yes, I'm gay" conversations, and parties where he'd known almost no one that he'd experienced since he'd begun this job for his father. He was a very social guy, but even he had his limits. By the time he'd gotten to Washington, he'd wanted nothing more than to just do his job and go back to his quiet apartment alone.

All of that had flown out the window when Kurt had taken his hand to help him off of the stage and he'd looked into those spectacular blue-green eyes.

The buzz from the intercom on his phone jolted him out of his thoughts. He gave the bottom of his sweater a tug to smooth it out and pasted on a polite smile as he stood to greet his ten o'clock appointment. Surprise couldn't even begin to describe his reaction when his assistant escorted Kurt into the office.

"Kurt!" Blaine was across the room and pulling Kurt into his arms before he had the chance to respond. Blaine kissed him gently and ran a hand up his back. "Not that this isn't a great surprise, but you do realize you're about eight hours early for our date?"

Kurt grinned at him mischievously. "No, I think I'm right on time, actually."

Blaine shot a puzzled look back towards his desk, where his calendar was still open on his monitor. "So, I'm guessing that you're KH Designs?"

"Guilty. I didn't want to spoil the surprise by using my name." Kurt was bouncing on his toes in excitement.

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "What surprise? Are you here to take me out to lunch? It's a bit early, but—"

"No!" Kurt interrupted as he began to wiggle like an over-excited puppy. "I've decided to renovate my house and I want you…well, you and your company, to do the work."

A rush of delight threatened to overtake Blaine, but he didn't want to make any assumptions, so he tamped down his feelings and attempted to clarify the situation. "I thought you were only staying a few more weeks. Do you want to manage the renovations from New York? It makes things harder, but we can definitely—"

"I'm staying for five more months!" Kurt blurted out, cutting him off again, but Blaine didn't mind in the slightest. "I just…after last weekend I… this seemed like the perfect excuse to stay in town and get to know you better." He paused for a beat. "Plus I'll get a higher price for the house! I should have started with that, huh? Do I sound like a stalker? Oh god, I do. I'm a weird stalker who's making major financial and life decisions because on a guy he met less than a week ago."

Blaine felt his scalp tingle in arousal as he watched the color bloom on Kurt's cheeks, but he ignored it, wanting to act professionally. It wouldn't look good at all to have his assistant walk in and find him ravishing Kurt on the desk.

"Of course you don't sound like a stalker." He took a step back from Kurt to clear his head, but the wonderful scent that was already burned into his brain under the bolded title "Kurt" followed him, tickling his nose. "You're right, you will get more money for the house if you renovate, maybe even double what you put into it. It just makes financial sense. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled that you're going to be in town longer. Are you sure you can leave your business for that long, though?"

Kurt shrugged. "I might have to make a few trips to New York, but my office manager has things under control. In fact, she begged me to take some extended time off, so I would imagine she's throwing an 'I've just staged a successful coup' party right about now."

Still trying to maintain his business demeanor, Blaine offered Kurt a seat and pulled his keyboard to him so that they could hammer out an outline of the renovations. Kurt described the ideas he had, from knocking down walls to updating the kitchen.

"Do you think all of that's doable in five-and-a-half months?" Kurt asked as he bit his bottom lip anxiously.

Blaine stared at Kurt's small little teeth tugging on his lip and fantasized about swiping all the papers from his desk and just going for it, assistant be damned. He let the daydream play for just a moment before pulling himself together, realizing that he still hadn't answered Kurt's question. "It'll be tight, but if you have the money, we can do it. I'm familiar with the house and I know several people on my crew have mentioned wanting to get a crack at it. They're going to be excited about this one."

Blaine didn't have any other appointments for the day, so they headed out to the house to do the initial walk-through. First, they walked around the outside while they talked about the exterior work Kurt wanted. Blaine could smell the tang of the sea in the air, even though he couldn't quite see the water from where they were. A few lazy seagulls flew overhead, probably on a search for an unsecured garbage can and he could hear a faint tapping sound from around the corner that probably came from a branch that had grown too close to the house being swung back-and-forth in the breeze that had just come up. It was a quiet, charming neighborhood that would be a great selling point for the house once it was on the market.

They finished up outside and headed in to go over Kurt's ideas. Other than the tasks that were normally involved in a historical renovation, such as determining if the foundation needed any work or if the plumbing and wiring needed to be updated, Kurt wanted to combine two of the smaller bedrooms and enlarge the kitchen.

Blaine marked each idea down on his notepad and even scrawled down a few suggestions of his own to mention to Kurt later.

After they were finished, they had a leisurely lunch in town as they went over the plans. Finally, work talk was exhausted and Kurt began to recount a bizarre show he had watched the night before about a family who made their living by scavenging for antiques and collectible in garbage dumps and reselling the items on eBay.

As he watched the expressions of amusement and snarky judgment play over Kurt's face, Blaine felt that bordering-on-painful shock go through his heart that had only happened to him once or twice before.

There was no question about it. Blaine Anderson was smitten.

=^..^=

Blaine picked Kurt up at his house that night for their first official date. When Kurt opened the door, Blaine's face was hidden behind a lovely bouquet of roses that looked like they'd come from an actual florist's shop and not the cold case at the local grocery store. Kurt mentally gave Blaine his first "perfect boyfriend point" according to the rules that he and his best girl friends had devised during numerous sleep overs in high school.

He got point two for what he was wearing. Given that most of the time they'd spent together either involved costumes or sweat pants and t-shirts, Kurt didn't yet have a solid handle on Blaine's style. He could see, however, that the preppy, slightly out-of-time look from the coffee shop was still an ongoing theme. There was no bow tie that evening, but Kurt could definitely put his brightly colored designer cardigan (if it wasn't Brooks Brothers, Kurt would voluntarily drink the toxic green "hangover cure" that Santana stumbled into the office carrying every time she overindulged) and painted on khakis in the same fashion show with his earlier outfit and create a cohesive point-of-view.

He approved. Not to sound shallow, but he didn't know what he would do if Blaine liked to dress in sports jerseys and basketball shorts. Outside of the guys within his own industry (who he refused to date. The fashion world was way too small—and already too catty—to risk turning anyone against you because of a failed romance), most of the guys he met in New York fell into one of five categories: cookie cutter expensive-suit-looks-like-a-lawyer, hipster I'm-rich-but-I-dress-like-I'm-homeless-aren't-I-co ol, fashion wannabes who were more victim than trendsetter, the boring old my-mom-still-buys-my-clothes, and last-month's-QG-said-this-look-was-in. It was refreshing to see someone try their own thing and succeed at it.

The rain started during their drive into town and by the time Blaine parked the car it was pouring like Kurt had never seen it. They made a run for the door of the quiet waterfront restaurant where Blaine had made reservations, trying in vain to avoid the puddles that were forming on the sidewalk.

They came to a stop once under the awning at the front of the building, laughing together at the havoc the rain had played with their carefully pressed clothes.

"What would it cost to turn my house into an ark instead?" Kurt asked with a chuckle as he wiped water from his cheek. "That might sell better around here."

Blaine reached out and caught a raindrop that was hanging on a piece of Kurt's hair. "I'm told the rain stops off-and-on in April and May, and then disappears like clockwork on July 5th."

"That's…specific."

"People here swear it's the truth."

Kurt squinted out at the rain. "July 5th, huh? I definitely think we need to look deeper into this ark idea."

They were shown to a table alongside the windows, where they proceeded to make the typical "getting to know you" conversation generally associated with first dates over steak and locally caught crab.

Kurt told Blaine how he'd gotten started in fashion and they talked about their surprising similar, yet oh-so-different backgrounds. Blaine described the various places he'd lived for his job and Kurt waxed poetic about the mecca that was New York City.

After dinner, they walked a few buildings down the road to a frozen yogurt shop, where Kurt teased Blaine into taste testing all the flavors and shook his head sadly when he still filled his cup with plain old vanilla. Kurt choose pomegranate, topping his treat with several kinds of fruit, but regretted his choice when he saw Blaine loading up on brownie bites and peanut butter cups. He snuck back in line and added a spoonful (okay, three spoonfuls) of mini-chocolate chips. After all, it was only good manners not to make Blaine eat junk food alone.

He'd just taken an extra-large bite, savoring the tangy flavor of the frozen yogurt, when Blaine finally addressed the elephant in the room.

"So what does it mean for us, now that you're staying in town longer?"

Kurt dipped his head and concentrated very hard on spooning out the perfect ratio of yogurt to topping. "I'm hoping it means that we give this thing a shot. That we try for more than just a…a quick vacation fling. That's…that's what I want."

Blaine's hand settled over his, drawing Kurt's head up until their gazes met.

"That's what I want, too. I know we haven't known each other long, but I think this could really be something special, Kurt." Kurt smiled with relief, his heart beating a mile-a-minute in his chest. "And, I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but Anderson and Sons has a big office in New York. My father's mentioned before that it was possible I'd be moved there next, so…"

Blaine's announcement sent a shiver down Kurt's spine. He brought his spoon up to his mouth, licking the contents off much more sensually than he'd planned, if the darkening of Blaine's eyes was any indication.

"Are you almost done?" Blaine's voice dropped low, rumbling in his chest. Kurt nodded. "Good, 'cause I think I'd like to get another look at your house. I have a feeling I didn't inspect the bedrooms carefully enough during our walk-through."

"Well, we can't have that. That could lead to unexpected costs and schedule delays."

They walked very quickly back to the car, even though it was no longer raining.


	4. Chapter 4

The next two weeks were a blur of finalizing details and approving budgets. Blaine applied for the needed permits and his crew got working on prepping the house for the major work. All the furniture—except for one bed, one chest of drawers, and the horrible old couch and chair that Kurt was only too happy to leave to be ruined by sweaty construction workers using them on their breaks—was removed and put into storage and the despised gold carpet was ripped up and carted away. Kurt knew bigger changes were on the horizon, but honestly the removal of all that synthetic fiber from the house was probably going to end up being his favorite accomplishment of the entire renovation.

They'd agreed that they wanted to preserve as much of the original house as possible—just spruce it up and make it modern enough that a family would love to live there. They would be knocking down one wall upstairs to combine the two smallest bedrooms and would be gutting the kitchen and the two and a half baths (though Kurt was quick to ensure that his now beloved bathtub would be saved and reinstalled).

To make it easier for Kurt to remain in the house, Blaine had shifted the schedule around so that they would initially work on getting one of the upstairs bathrooms done to the point where it could be used. After the ceiling was repaired, the walls re-plastered, and new crown moldings installed, Kurt would be moving in there while work was done in the master bedroom.

Because Blaine was going out of his way to get the project up and going so quickly, he hadn't had a lot of free time, which meant that the stolen moments they were able to find over blueprints and cost estimates were all the more precious. They'd been able to sneak in a lunch here and a dinner there and Kurt had stayed the night three times, but it wasn't enough and he was looking forward to when the work would begin in earnest and Blaine would only be needed in an advisory capacity.

Kurt made plans to return to New York for three days just as construction was set to begin. He savored his last day with a working kitchen by baking several dozen cookies and fresh bread that he planned on leaving out for the crew the next morning. He'd only met a few of them when they'd come in to strip out the carpet, but they'd seemed nice and he knew they probably worked up quite the appetites at work.

After the last batch of double chocolate chip were pulled from the oven and left to cool on wire racks, he re-packed his clothes into his large pieces of luggage and moved the bags into the small bedroom that would be his for the next five months. He then headed off to stay at Blaine's for the night before going into Seattle the next day to catch his plane.

=^..^=

When Kurt returned four days later, it was to a different house.

He opened the door to the sound of power tools and hammering and the smell of construction dust hanging in the air. He sat his carry-on bag at the base of the stairs and looked around, noting that the newly liberated hardwood floors had been covered up again, this time with heavy tan colored canvas. He dodged a couple of tool boxes and a ladder on his way to check out the kitchen, which had been gutted and was now just a big empty room with pipes and wiring poking out of the walls.

He heard the sound of Blaine's voice filtering down from above, so he followed it up the stairs. He passed by the smaller bathroom and poked his head in, nodding with satisfaction at the gleaming new fixtures. The walls were temporarily painted white and the tile and flooring would be put in later, so wouldn't be appearing in _Better Homes & Gardens_ anytime soon, but Kurt was up for roughing it for a while. Voices again filtered in from down the hall, this time joined by a chorus of sharp banging noises, so he hurried back towards the master bath, eager to see Blaine again.

He stopped dead in the doorway as he took in three sweaty men, each clad only in jeans and damp white undershirts. One guy was chipping away the tile from the back wall, while another was cursing with his head hidden below the sink cabinet. He let his eyes skip over them clinically. They were in great shape and normally would have been a reason to stop and linger, but he was too interested in the third guy in the room to pay them much attention. Blaine stood with his back to the door, smashing at a wall with a sledge hammer. Each time he raised the hammer up the muscles of his arms and back flexed and pulled. Kurt felt a physical reaction each time he made contact.

He stood there quietly for a minute until he started to feel a little creepy. "Hey guys," he called out softly, not wanting to startle anyone while they were using dangerous tools. "I'd offer you some refreshments, but it looks like some disaster has befallen my kitchen."

Blaine set the sledgehammer down at his side and wiped an arm across his forehead as he grinned. "Kurt! You're back! Perfect timing. We just finished the other bathroom a half-hour ago." He walked over and kissed Kurt gently, making sure to hold his sweaty body angled away.

Kurt looked at the other men quickly, but neither reacted to the kiss. They just greeted him politely and told Blaine that they were going to punch out for the evening.

Blaine nodded absently as they picked up their tools and got ready to leave. "Good work today guys. I'll see you tomorrow bright and early."

Kurt waited until he heard the sounds of heavy boots hitting the stairs before he grabbed Blaine's shoulders, forcing him back against the only intact wall in the room. He kissed him hungrily for a few moments before sliding his lips down Blaine's chin to his neck, the salty tang of sweat filling his senses. "I've never been one to go for the sweaty construction worker cliché, but god, Blaine…" he managed to get out while running his tongue over the hollow above Blaine's clavicle that was exposed by his skimpy shirt.

"Is it the sweat or the drywall dust that does it for you?" Blaine asked, his voice an intoxicating mixture of amusement and arousal.

Kurt shook his head. "I don't think I can even describe the way your muscles looked when you were swinging that…that…"

"Sledgehammer?" Blaine filled in and Kurt nodded before going back in to attack his neck again. "So you like my big tool, huh?"

Kurt snorted against Blaine's shoulder. "Oh yes, you've got such a big tool, baby. Show me how you use it," he said seductively in a breathy Marilyn Monroe-esque voice, before ruining it with another burst of laughter.

Blaine twirled until their positions were reversed and Kurt's breath caught in his throat at the sight of Blaine's blown pupils and flushed cheeks. His amusement faded and he hungrily pulled him back in for another kiss.

=^..^=

"I know it's not really my place to have an opinion, but if you plan on ruining my amazing renovations with that wallpaper I think I'm going to have to charge you double."

Kurt looked up from the truly ghastly wallpaper pattern he'd been staring at (seriously, had anyone ever ordered the cream colored paper with a nightmarish black and purple design that looked like a Rorschach test? If so, he never wanted to meet them. Or visit their house) to smile at Blaine, who was standing behind the chair he was curled up in, his arms balanced on the back as he leaned in to look at the book of wallpaper samples Kurt held on his lap.

"What?" Kurt teased. "But it's so classic and striking." He wasn't sure if he should be offended that Blaine even thought for a second that he would consider the stomach-turning design.

Blaine looked at him in dismay. "They look like bruises. It'll look like someone has been beating your house, Kurt."

"Fine," Kurt huffed as he closed the book and set it on down beside him. "If you were going to pick wallpaper what kind would you go for?"

"I like the more subtle stuff. Stripes and small patterns."

"Stripes, huh?" Kurt reached out to run a finger along the black and red striped bow tie Blaine was wearing. "Color me amazed."

Blaine smiled sheepishly. "Hey, at least you can't say I don't know what I like." He reached out to rub one of Kurt's shoulders and Kurt closed his eyes for a second and stretched like a cat. "I know you've got a lot of design decisions still to make, but I was hoping you'd play hooky with me today. The guys are going to be stripping the crown molding, so it'll be noisy in here and it's the first day it hasn't rained in a week, so I was hoping we could get out, grab some fresh air."

"What did you have in mind?"

=^..^=

Blaine slipped the car into park and undid his seatbelt before reaching into the back seat to grab his camera. The large white administration buildings of Fort Worden lay behind him and the parade grounds stretched out in front, with the stately Victorian officer's houses far across the grassy expanse. He'd been to the state park, which was Port Townsend's main tourist attraction, other than the town itself, once before, but it had begun to rain soon after he'd arrived, so he'd never made it down to the beach or to any of the other areas he wanted to see.

He walked around the front of the car to open the door for Kurt, who was peering up doubtfully at the military buildings.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go see the Astaire and Rogers double feature playing at the dollar theater?" Kurt asked as he slid his feet out and stood up.

A breeze caught the edge of Kurt's scarf and sent it flapping, so Blaine grabbed it and smoothed it back down into place over his chest. "Come on. The sun is…" he shot a look up at the only partially cloudy sky, "kind of out and spring is in the air. The movies can wait until the next downpour. I've really been wanting to take some pictures down at the beach and there's this cistern up on the hill that's supposed to have amazing acoustics. Please? For me?"

Kurt gave in gracefully and took Blaine's arm in his. "Those Victorians across the way do look very interesting. Maybe I'll get some decorating ideas."

"The officers lived in those houses," Blaine explained, looking down at the guide map he'd picked up at the park entrance. "There's a museum in one of them we can visit."

Kurt nodded as he looked up at the large building before them, tilting his head as if trying to puzzle something out. "This place looks really familiar."

"Have you seen _An Officer and a Gentleman_?They filmed that movie here."

Kurt stopped in his tracks and squinted at the big field they'd parked next to and the houses on the other side. "How have I been here for a month and a half and not known that?" He lifted his hands, taking Blaine's with them, up to this chest and sighed. "I remember my mom always watching that movie when I was a kid. When Richard Gere picks Debra Winger up at the end and sweeps her away from her life of toiling in the factory? Pure heaven. That movie was single handedly responsible for any and all men-in-uniform fantasies I had growing up."

They bypassed the main military museum in favor of the officer's house museum, then, with Blaine's map to guide them, they hiked up a grassy road to the hill above the fort until they finally came across a small group of people gathered beside a hatch covering an opening in the ground. Blaine approached the group and found out that they were musicians who were about to record a song inside the water cistern that he'd heard about.

Park rules required that someone remain outside whenever anyone went into the cistern, in case of emergency, so Blaine asked if he and Kurt could go down inside while the group waited on top for their recording equipment to arrive. After getting their agreement, he and Kurt climbed down the cold metal ladder into the huge concrete space that was peppered with pillars holding up the ceiling.

"This place is famous for its acoustical reverberation," Blaine explained as they prowled around the room. "Forty-five seconds, or so they say." He'd wanted to visit the space ever since he'd first read about it while during his research on the town that would be his home for a year. He always enjoyed playing tourist and finding little known places, but when he'd learned about the number of musicians over the years who had come to the cistern to record songs he'd felt a tug in a part of himself he'd thought long buried.

"Hmmm….we should test it. Do you sing?" Kurt asked as he peered towards the black edges of the cistern not touched by the light coming in through the single opening.

Blaine thought for a minute before moving to the center of the room. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes before jumping right to the chorus of a song that had been stuck in his head for several days. He reached the end and kept his eyes closed, caught up in the amazing sound of his voice echoing around him. He felt a stir in the air and his eyes fluttered open to find Kurt standing just inches away, looking at him in awe.

"Well, I guess that answers two questions. You can definitely sing and the reports of this room's acoustics have not been exaggerated. I bet that's the first time anyone's sung any Tom Jones down here."

"You should try it," Blaine urged him. "It's amazing."

The left side of Kurt's mouth quirked up in a smile, a not-quite-a-dimple indent appearing in his cheek for just a second. He lifted a finger up to his chin and tapped it there repeatedly, his eyes flickering back and forth as he considered what he should sing. Blaine watched him run through his repertoire of songs in his mind, which he knew was probably extensive, given that Kurt had initially studied musical theater in college. Finally, he took a step back, gave a tug on the bottom of his lightweight sweater to pull it smooth, and stood up incredibly straight, his posture suddenly making Blaine feel like a self-conscious hunchback.

When Kurt began to sing, Blaine immediately recognized it as _Bring Him Home_ from _Les Miz_. He'd started towards the end of the song, so he didn't have long to go before he reached the famous long high note at the end. The pure, clear sound of Kurt's voice wrapped around him like a warm cocoon and for a moment, Blaine considered how it wouldn't be wholly unpleasant if the lid of the entrance suddenly closed for some reason. He'd seen a box of flashlights at the base of the ladder and knew that he and Kurt would find _some_ way of occupying themselves until help arrived.

Fortunately, his wild fantasy didn't come to pass and the opening to the cistern remained wide open. Blaine snapped a few photos of Kurt singing and when the last echo had finally faded away he gave a wild round of applause. Kurt dipped down into a low curtsey and they headed back to the ladder. Kurt went first, teasing Blaine about the peculiar off-center way he clapped during the whole ascent.

When they reached the top, they thanked the musicians for the short-term use of the space and then walked down the hill, towards the beach.

As they got to the sand, Blaine grasped Kurt's hand again and they set off for the lighthouse that could be seen far in the distance at the bend in the coastline. The sun was shining from behind the light clouds just enough to ensure that they were comfortable, even with the wind coming in off the water.

"I know people complain a lot about the weather here," Kurt said as they picked their way over a pile of driftwood, "but it's kind of nice for those of us who are pigmentally challenged."

"Pigmentally challenged?" Blaine laughed as he squatted to pick up a purple and white swirled shell.

"Freakishly pale, Casper's long-lost cousin, blindingly white, tan resistant, freckle prone Whitey McWhiterson…" Kurt listed off.

"Luminescent, glowing, radiant…" Blaine countered, unable to listen to Kurt put himself down, even if he was joking.

Kurt bumped Blaine's shoulder with his and smiled. "I like your list better, I must say."

"How did you deal with those hot, humid Ohio summers if you're so anti-sunshine?"

"All the things I loved to do—performing, sewing, writing my latest British royalty based musical, fashion blogging, vintage clothes hunting on the internet—were distinctly indoor activities. Every year my dad would drag me out camping for a week—which I always suspected was some kind of passive-aggressive tit-for-tat for the murder mystery nights and cooking lessons I subjected him to—and I'd complain and complain, but we always ended up having a great time, despite my having to use up an entire bottle of 100 SPF sunscreen."

"I didn't even know sunscreen came in 100 SPF," Blaine said in amazement, trying to remember if he'd ever used anything above a 30 SPF.

Kurt made a face as if Blaine was a cute little puppy who was trying to scare away a bigger dog with his tiny bark. "Oh, aren't you adorable. So much to learn, so much to learn."

They hadn't gone very far before they came across giant concrete bunkers built high up on the beach. Blaine read aloud the passage in the park guide about the numerous pre-WWI artillery batteries built at Fort Worden as they made their way up and started looking around. They climbed several flights of stairs to the top and explored some lookouts and open rooms before descending into the lower levels. Blaine snapped photos of the deserted passageways, rusty doors, and pioneer plants that had made their home in the tiny bits of soil that collected in out-of-the-way corners. He kind of admired those plants. Their seeds hadn't landed in the rich, nutritious soil that lay just hundreds of feet behind them, but they'd made do with what they had and were trying to make a life for themselves, regardless.

They finally ended up in the big round, open space where the biggest guns had once been anchored, looking out over the waves.

"I'd have liked to see this place in its heyday," Blaine sighed as he set one hip against the ledge. "All the men in uniform doing their morning marches, coming down here for their duty shifts. I bet it was just like the movies." He raised his chin and saluted. "I would have made a very elegant officer."

"The only way I would have ended up here is if the USO made a stop to entertain the troops." Kurt looped his arms around Blaine's shoulders, his fingers playing with the curls on the back of his neck. "It would have been like a Cary Grant movie. You would have been out in the crowd, looking for some distraction from the constant fear of death when suddenly, there on the stage, a vision in blue." Kurt gasped and lowered his voice slightly to imitate Blaine. "Who is that angel on the stage? Where has he been all my life?" Blaine tightened his arms around Kurt's waist in response. "You would have been mesmerized by my voice and tried to do everything that you could to meet me, only to see me drive away in the back of a troop carrier, possibly gone forever. You would have pined for me for the rest of the war, hoping to see me in every gin joint and officer's club you came across and thoughts of me would have kept you going through each and every battle."

Blaine cleared his throat, the picture that Kurt was painting kind of tugging at his heartstrings. "Um, I don't think they saw any military action here. No battles."

Kurt pressed a finger to his lips and then followed it with a quick kiss. "Shhh…don't ruin it. I'm still imagining my marvelous blue suit." He followed up with another kiss, one that wasn't quite so quick.

Eventually, the sounds of someone else walking around the bunker breached the little world they'd created for themselves, so they picked their way down the stairs back towards the beach. The tide was going out, so they went closer to the water to explore the shells being left behind. Kurt was fascinated by the sand dollars and ran ahead to see if he could find any. Blaine followed along behind, enjoying the childlike enthusiasm Kurt showed as he looked for an unbroken specimen.

Eventually, Kurt grew bored with the shell collecting and joined back up with Blaine, tucking their arms back together as they got closer to the lighthouse.

"You never told me you could sing. You have a great voice," Kurt said with a little bit of accusation in his voice.

Blaine felt a pang of something deep in his chest, but didn't let it show on his face. "I wanted to be a performer, once upon a time."

"What happened?"

"Life, I guess." Kurt just kept looking at him steadily, so Blaine continued. "I've led a charmed life, for the most part. My parents were wealthy and I was always pretty popular growing up. If I wanted something, I usually got it. My smartass friends in high school accused me of living in a "beautiful person bubble," like Jon Hamm's character did on _30 Rock_." Blaine looked embarrassed at the memory. "You know, where people just gave him things because of the way he looked? He never had to work for anything and so he didn't realize how the world really worked. And they were right, for the most part, though they didn't really know the whole story about what happened in junior high."

Blaine paused there and Kurt made a noise of sympathy, since Blaine had already told him about the problems he'd had in school when he'd first come out. "I wanted to sing and I became lead soloist for the Warblers, our choir group. I wanted a job performing and I was cast in every summer and holiday production that King's Island had to offer. I knew that music was what I saw myself doing with my life. I was going to be a star and there was nothing that was going to stop me. Then, during my senior year, just as I began applying to musical theater programs, my father called me into his office one night and pleaded with me to go to business school so that I could follow him into the family business."

They reached the lighthouse and their conversation was put on hold as Blaine took some photos. When he was done, they turned around, this time taking a track that led them up higher on beach. "My father started his construction business the year that my older brother, Cooper, was born and called it 'Anderson and Sons' because he had this dream of building an empire and handing it off to his sons to run when the time came. He and mom had planned on having four or five kids, but it didn't work out that way. It was almost eight years before I was born. Then, when I was ten or so, Cooper declared that he was going to go to Hollywood and become an actor. Dad gave him some money and let him go, but I'm pretty sure he always thought Cooper would come back, with his tail tucked between his legs, and when that didn't happen he was devastated."

Kurt remained silent, but Blaine felt his arm tighten around his and it encouraged him to finish the story. "I hadn't really paid much attention to the business, so I didn't realize how much dad had pinned his hopes on me. That night, when he begged me to join the company, I saw tears in his eyes. Have you ever seen your dad cry?" Kurt nodded, pain shining in his eyes. "Then you know that you'd do anything to make it stop. I told him I'd go to business school and the next day I threw away all my brochures for theater schools and applied to my dad's alma mater."

Kurt laid his head on Blaine's shoulder. "Blaine, I'm so sorry."

Blaine turned and pressed a kiss to Kurt's forehead. "It's okay. I'm not in love with the work, but then, most people don't love what they do, right? It's a job and I'm making my dad proud. It's enough."

"Do you still perform or anything?" Kurt asked tentatively as he dropped Blaine's arm and sat down on a log. "There's community theater if you wanted to do musicals or open mic nights —"

"No, I'm too busy for any of that, especially with moving around like I do," Blaine shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It was a stupid dream."

He took a few steps closer to the water to watch a crab scurry in and out of some rocks, but he swore he heard Kurt whisper from behind him "No dream is stupid."


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of the baggage carousel lurching to life pulled Blaine out of his lack-of-sleep induced stupor.

It was the first week of May and he and Kurt had flown to New York City to attend the annual Costume Institute Gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, more commonly known as the Met Ball. According to Kurt, it was fashion's biggest night (even though, alas, there were no awards given out) and designers often attended with a celebrity who they'd dressed for the event. Jennifer Lawrence, fresh off her second Academy Award for Best Actress, was wearing a Kurt Hummel original and would be attending with him.

Blaine had known that Kurt was going back to New York for the ball, but it'd only been a week before, over morning cereal that had gone soggy after a good morning kiss had gotten out-of-hand, that he'd received an invitation to come along. Though Blaine would never have described Kurt as lacking in confidence, he'd definitely been a little tentative when he'd made the suggestion, as if he wasn't sure if they were at _that_ stage in their relationship. Blaine wasn't sure why Kurt thought a trip to New York for three days somehow implied a deeper connection than deciding to stay five extra months in a town on the other side of the country from his business after one night together, but he'd found Kurt's blush and stammer absolutely adorable.

They'd taken the red-eye from Seattle, so it was only 6:30 in the morning by the time their town car pulled up outside of Kurt's apartment. They stumbled inside, dropped their luggage in the hallway and, since neither one of them had slept well on the plane, collapsed onto Kurt's bed for a nap.

After a few hours of restorative sleep and refreshing showers ("Separately, Blaine. We're on a schedule today"), they hailed a cab and made their way to Kurt's studio to pick out a tuxedo for Blaine to wear.

After greeting the receptionist who met them at the door, Kurt led Blaine directly to the storage room, where rack-after-rack of clothes hung. In the back, a collection of men's suits and tuxedos sat nestled between some ball gowns and flirty cocktail dresses. Kurt began to flip through the hangers, muttering softly to himself as he discarded some options and set others aside for further consideration.

It was obvious that most of the suits were either too casual or were made for someone with vastly different measurements than his, but eventually Kurt selected four options and had Blaine try them on. He rejected the first tuxedo before Blaine had even finished putting it on and the second option didn't fare much better, but number three was the charm. The classically cut tuxedo was a perfect fit across his shoulders and would only need to have the sleeves and pants hemmed to work for him. Kurt grabbed a few pins from a basket in the corner and tucked them between his lips as he knelt at Blaine's feet to fold up the pants legs to the correct length.

Though Blaine had a definite style and always tried to look his best, he was quite happy to surrender all decisions on his attire for the ball to Kurt. He still couldn't really believe that he was just about 24 hours away from schmoozing with the crème de la crème of Hollywood and New York. The closest he'd ever come to meeting a real celebrity (other than Kurt) had been the time he'd visited his brother on the set of his latest commercial and run across Zachary Quinto outside the soundstage.

It was just part of everyday life for Kurt, though. Accompanying an Oscar winning actress to a fancy ball? Check. Catching up with Stella McCartney and Marc Jacobs over cocktails? Check, check. Blaine loved being with Kurt and knew that, given the opportunity, they could really have something special, but he was suddenly hyper aware of just how different their lives truly were. Silk, jersey, and phrases like "point-of-view" and "haute couture" had no more of a place in Blaine's life than blueprints and drywall had in Kurt's.

After a nip here and a tuck there, Kurt had the jacket and pants pinned to his liking. He moved to stand behind Blaine and looked over his shoulder at their reflections in the full-length mirror.

"I'm going to have the hottest date there," Kurt breathed into his ear, causing Blaine to shiver at the both the sound and the sensation. "Everyone is going to be so jealous."

"Only until they get a load of my date," Blaine countered.

"Nope," Kurt slid an arm around Blaine and pulled him backwards until they were plastered together hip-to-chest. "I've got the mystery factor on my side. Everyone is going to be wondering who the magnificent stranger is in the exquisite custom tailored Kurt Hummel tux."

Blaine smiled at him in the mirror. "Well, I —"

"God, we get it, we get it. You're both pretty, pretty ponies. Enough already. Some of us just had lunch."

Blaine jerked his eyes up on the mirror until he could see the reflection of the door and the exotically dressed woman standing there. He felt Kurt's arm tighten for a second before it fell away.

"Santana, have I ever told you that you've got quite the knack for inconvenient timing." Kurt slipped the three rejected tuxes back into place on the rack as he spoke.

"You say inconvenient, I say hilarious." She stepped into the room and looked Blaine up and down so thoroughly that he thought she needed to offer to buy him a drink. "I always assumed they grew them bigger out West."

Kurt had already warned Blaine about his friend's her wicked tongue and refusal to obey boundaries, so he wisely kept his mouth shut, choosing not giving her any more ammunition to work with. She looked disappointed when neither of them rose to the bait.

Santana tapped her foot a few times and then huffed in frustration. "Fine, while you two have some kind of adorable argument over who has the cutest butt dimples," she said the last part in an exaggerated baby talk voice, "I'm going to go work on my epic smack down for a stylist whose client returned the red tulle gown from last season with two feet chopped unevenly off the bottom and suspicious stains on the bodice."

Still looking in the mirror, Blaine caught her checking out his ass as she turned. She gave Kurt a thumbs-up and made an obscene gesture while waggling her eyebrows before sweeping out the door. Kurt just sighed and shook his head wearily.

Though he wasn't particularly proud of it, Blaine felt pleased that he'd gotten her approval.

After Blaine changed out of the tuxedo, he followed Kurt down some stairs to a room where two women were hand sewing tiny crystals onto the neckline of a gorgeous deep purple gown. Kurt made introductions all around and hurried forward to examine their progress, throwing an explanation over his shoulder that it was Jennifer Lawrence's gown for the ball. They'd had the final fitting with the actress the day before and were just putting the final touches on it.

Blaine felt a twinge of guilt when Kurt asked them if they had time to make the alterations to Blaine's tux, but it was quickly allayed when he saw the enthusiasm the women showed when they learned he and Kurt were dating. Their happy smiles and excited chattering as they pressed for all the details showed how much they loved working for Kurt and Blaine knew from personal experience how hard it was to keep employees happy. It said a lot about Kurt that his employees liked and respected him so much.

They soon bid the ladies goodbye and Kurt gave Blaine a tour of the studio, from his private office with its huge drafting table next to a floor-to-ceiling window, to the fabric room with bolt after bolt of luxurious material, to the salon with chic art deco style chairs where they held private fashion shows for magazine editors and high-end department store buyers.

When they reached the main office again, Santana called Kurt over to go over some last minute details for the next evening, so Blaine shooed him away and began to leaf through an expensive looking bound book that held an archive of Kurt's original sketches next to photographs of the final ensembles. Each design was more incredible than the next and it made Blaine sad to think that Kurt's momentary loss of inspiration had him doubting his future.

He glanced up for a second and froze, entranced by the way the early afternoon light streamed through the window, making Kurt glow as if lit by the most award winning lighting director in Hollywood. The book dropped forgotten to his lap as he took in all the shades of honey, chestnut, and subtle hints of red that gleamed in Kurt's hair (which was styled even more elaborately than usual because, "It's New York, Blaine. They can smell fear and all you can do is try and distract them with pretty faces and shiny objects") and the way his eyes betrayed every single thing he was feeling.

Santana was sitting on the corner of a desk, feet swinging as she held onto the edge with both hands. She looked uncomfortable and squirmy and Kurt had a fond smile on his face, so Blaine could only assume that she was acting totally out of character and saying something pleasant.

Kurt glanced up just then and caught Blaine's eye, sending him a wink before giving Santana a quick one-armed hug that had her fidgeting even more. Kurt laughed at her discomfort and she stood up and said something with a smirk before striding away, pausing once to say in one final thing that Blaine didn't quite catch before sweeping out the door.

Kurt returned to Blaine's side, still chuckling. "So, what do you think?" he asked, gesturing towards the book of designs.

Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand and drew him down to the sofa. "Kurt, do you know how incredibly lucky you are to be able to make a living through creativity like this? Spending your life making art? It's amazing."

"I'm know. I'm one of those few people who loves what they do. I'm lucky. I forget that sometimes, but it's true. " He stood up and pulled Blaine with him. "Come on, we need to buy you some shoes and you can keep me entertained by telling me about the architecture on Fifth Avenue."

=^..^=

Kurt set aside some time to start working on designs again as soon as they got back to Port Townsend. After all, if he couldn't get inspiration from the Met Ball, then he might as well give up hope and start looking into career options in the fast food industry.

He'd dabbled a bit since he'd first arrived in Washington, but since the only sketches that had been worth keeping had all been for variations of his Victorian Ball ensemble, he wouldn't call his efforts a rousing success. He hadn't drawn much since meeting Blaine, though. Wallpaper samples and paint color cards had replaced his sketch book on his bedside table and the sewing machine had been packed away with the rest of the house's contents, but little sparks of ideas had bounced around in his head during their return flight, so the next day he pulled his box of drawing supplies out from under his bed, told Blaine he'd see him in a few days, set his phone to "do not disturb", and settled down to work.

The first sketch looked like a dress Maria might have made with her comforter after she finished using her curtains for the Von Trapp children's clothes and things just went downhill from there.

After a few hours, he decided to distract himself from his looming failure with some online shopping. He ordered a few "As Seen on TV" items that he decided were necessary for the continued happiness of his existence and then clicked over to eBay, where he made note of the auction end dates for a vintage Armani jacket and Dolce and Gabbana shirt that caught his eye. He no longer needed to troll auctions and thrift stores for his high fashion items, but he was addicted to the thrill he got from swooping in at the last minute with a winning bid and he didn't want to give it up. Before leaving the site, he poked around the music section and bought a few vinyl records from some classic artists that Blaine had mentioned liking. It was always nice to have gifts ready when the perfect moment struck.

Thoughts of Blaine soon had him sighing over memories of the Met Ball. Blaine had looked at home there in the middle of all the movie stars, models, and socialites, and Kurt had seen more than one photographer take his picture, probably under the assumption that he was someone famous that they just didn't recognize.

Even Santana had seemed to like Blaine, though she had only spoken to him for a few minutes. When she'd pulled Kurt aside in the office, she'd only made a few X-rated cracks about them before she'd turned serious.

She'd avoided looking him in the eye, instead glancing out the window beside her. "You seem different, you know? Happier, more relaxed. And if the littlest construction worker… I mean Blaine, is even part of the reason why, then I'm behind this 100 percent. It's been hard managing your empire without you, but if you're getting what you need then it will all be worth it. You're my family and if you're happy, then I'm happy."

There had been many times over the years when Kurt had wondered why he put up with Santana (usually after he'd caught her going through his stuff or she'd taken her "truth telling" a step too far and said something particularly hurtful), but it was moments like that, when she dropped her defenses enough so that he could see that she truly cared about him that made it all worthwhile. Those glimpses of the vulnerable center she kept hidden were few and far-between and were typically gone in the blink of an eye, but they were real and kept him hanging on.

He'd given her a hug and been about to respond with something sappy when she'd stood up, her usual smirk back in place. "I read somewhere that the hormones released during sex stimulate other areas of the brain than just the pleasure centers, so I suspect the old Hummel design magic will be back in action soon. God, somewhere out there, some dork who hasn't left his basement in 10 years is missing out on the fact that his geek wet dream of a hobbit and an elf getting it on is a real thing. So very sad." With that she'd smoothed her hands down the front of her skintight skirt and turned to walk away. She'd only taken a few steps before looking back over her shoulder. "Oh, and since this whole thing is totally due to me kicking your butt outta here, I expect a large Christmas bonus this year and a window office, preferably corner."

Whenever Santana let her softer emotions show there was always a smart ass comment afterwards to cleanse the palate.

Thinking of Santana's confidence that he'd be back designing soon made Kurt even more restless, so he wandered down to his makeshift kitchen, which was a spot in the sunroom in the back where he'd set up a tiny fridge, microwave, toaster, coffee maker, and crock-pot. Even if he couldn't create a sketch of a new spring ball gown worth the paper it was drawn on, at least he could whip himself up some lunch.

The next day didn't go any better. By five o'clock he was so frustrated and mad that he felt like he was ready to come out of his skin. Maybe he wasn't in a dry spell. Maybe he'd only had a limited number of good designs in him and he'd used them all up. Washed up at the ripe old age of 28 and destined for a place in a "where are they now" retrospective on Fashion TV. That's all that his future held. He could feel himself spiraling and was unable to do anything to stop it when he heard the doorbell ring.

He opened the door to find Blaine standing there, his right hand holding a DVD of the first season of _Grey's Anatomy_ up in front of the lower part of his face, his left hand holding a bottle of wine.

Without a second thought, Kurt launched himself at Blaine, hauling him in for a tight hug. "How did you know to come?" he cried, his voice muffled against Blaine's shoulder.

"I was picking up groceries and Benji at the check-out stand told me that you'd ordered a whole cheesecake to be delivered, so I figured it was an emergency." Still enclosed in Kurt's embrace, Blaine gracefully walked them backwards until they were inside.

"See if I ever shop there again," Kurt grumbled as he reluctantly let go so that he could close the door. "So much for customer-grocer confidentiality."

Blaine squinted a little and tilted his head. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's not a thing. Besides, I thought you were happy to see me?"

"I am, but it'd still be nice to know that one could choose to eat their feelings with a body's weight worth of cheesecake without it becoming part of the clichéd small town grapevine. Speaking of eating, do you want some dinner? A crock-pot chicken creole was the only thing I successfully created in the last two days." He led the way towards the sunroom. "Did Benji tell you about my spice purchases also?" he tacked on sarcastically as he grabbed a bowl from a little cupboard.

Kurt didn't volunteer any other information on what was wrong and Blaine didn't push. He'd already eaten earilier, so he fixed Blaine a bowl of the creole, then sat down at the table beside him, unable to keep his hands from playing with the colored pencils that littered the surface. He could feel Blaine silently watching as he organized the pencils first by color, then by length. He'd just started to re-order them by sharpness when Blaine's hands settled down softly over his. Kurt looked down at their intertwined hands and felt a calm flow into him. He lifted a finger and drew it slowly over Blaine's thumb in gratitude, letting the rhythmic contact sooth him even further.

Blaine still didn't press for him to talk about it, for which Kurt was supremely grateful. All he said was, "You'll figure it out. I believe in you," before he took Kurt's hand to lead him up the stairs. Kurt snuggled in under the covers on his bed and waited for Blaine to pop the first disc into the DVD player. Within seconds, Blaine was crawling in next to him, nudging him slightly so that he could get his left arm wrapped around his shoulders. Kurt let Blaine pull him forward he was draped over him, his cheek resting on Blaine's chest.

As the opening scene of _Grey's_ began to play, Kurt felt the last of the constriction in his chest finally loosen. There, in that room, wrapped up in Blaine's strong arms, the idea that everything would be fine again didn't seem so ridiculous.

=^..^=

May and June were a whirlwind of construction, botched supply shipments, and business meetings, happily mixed in with shared yoga classes, quiet nights on the couch, and home cooked dinners. Kurt had been getting antsy without his kitchen, so Blaine had happily abdicated the cooking when they were at his place. His stomach had expressed its gratitude night-after-night as Kurt whipped up some of the most gourmet items in his repertoire as a thank you.

There'd been some picnics on Kurt's still unfinished floor and a few double dates with Kurt's friend Emily and her new boyfriend, but in general they'd spent most of their nights at Blaine's, happy to get away from the construction project that was Kurt's house.

After two months of seeing Kurt nearly every day (for business, pleasure, business that turned into pleasure, and pleasure with a little bit of business discussed in the afterglow), Blaine could safely say that he was still learning something new about him every day.

There were times, like when they'd come across a baby bunny quivering next to the body of its mother, who'd been the unfortunate victim of a speeding car, that the compassionate, caring Kurt who had the biggest marshmallow heart that Blaine had ever seen, came out. Kurt had bundled the baby up in his scarf and taken it home for the night before driving it to a local school the next morning, where one of the women he knew taught third grade. The bunny was now the pampered class pet and would never have to worry about cars ever again.

Other times, Kurt could be very cold and standoffish, especially when feeling overwhelmed or emotionally vulnerable. Though Blaine's first instinct was to rush in with reassurances and try to make everything better, he'd learned that it was best if he just gave Kurt his space at those moments and waited for Kurt to come to him, which he always did.

Still other times, it was as if Kurt should walk around with some I'm-taking-none-of-your-shit rock song playing behind him as his theme music. Sometimes he used his sassy attitude for good (when an outside contractor Blaine had hired to install some windows had made an offensive comment about Kurt underneath his breath, Kurt had wheeled around and torn him down with an awe-inspiring set down before informing him that his services were no longer required. Blaine had arrived at the house at the tail-end, but had been filled in by his crew, who seemed to respect Kurt even more after the incident), but not always (Kurt's comments on the clothing stocked by a local boutique were a little harsh and said a touch too loud in the presence of the store owner for Blaine's taste).

In turn, Kurt could be scared, amusingly over-confident, sullen, giddy, protective, dismissive, worldly and sophisticated, or just another consumer of mass, lowest common denominator entertainment.

The contradictions were intoxicating.

While he and Kurt had so much in common that he didn't think they'd ever run out of things to talk about, in many ways they were complete opposites.

Kurt was practical and methodical and thoroughly considered all the facts before making a plan of action, while Blaine plowed ahead spontaneously with little more than enthusiasm and a vague destination in mind. In his youth, a predilection for impulsive grand romantic gestures had backfired on him several times. Despite that, he still tended to leap before he looked. In fact, staying an extra five months in a strange town to renovate a house basically because he met a guy he liked seemed like something much more Blaine-like than Kurt. When he'd pointed it out over dinner one night, Kurt had sheepishly confessed that it was the most impulsive thing he'd ever done and totally unlike him.

Blaine had replied that he was more grateful for that moment of uncharacteristic spontaneity than he'd ever been for anything else, ever.

Despite all the good times, though, they hadn't been without their little disagreements.

Kurt was a little high-handed about taking over certain parts of Blaine's life – he'd come home one day to find different brands of shampoo in the shower, his original bottles laying discarded in a garbage can ("But yours was shampoo and conditioner in one, Blaine! And the stuff I bought is organic!"). He had the tendency to hijack the story someone else was telling and turn it into a story of his own and always seemed to drive the movie and restaurant selection. Blaine knew Kurt would let him choose if he said something and it actually didn't bother him that much, but he thought it would be nice if Kurt _would_ ask, at least once in a while, because he wouldn't be averse to mixing a few superheroes into their rotation of rom coms and musicals.

Of course, Blaine himself had been the cause of just as many "learning moments" as Kurt liked to call them. In fact, he'd been primarily responsible for the only actual fight they'd had when he'd been too slow to shut a guy down who'd been flirting with him at a bar the night they'd driven into nearby Port Angeles. He hadn't even realized that the guy was coming on to him at first and once he did he'd felt guilty for leading him on, so he'd tried to bring Kurt into the conversation, but bar guy had just ignored his attempts.

Kurt had become increasingly frustrated with him and Blaine had known it, but for some reason he had just laughed uncomfortably at the man's attentions and let them continue. Eventually, Kurt had gotten up and left. It had taken Blaine 10 minutes to realize he wasn't coming back. He'd run out into the parking lot in a panic and found Kurt waiting in the car, stone faced. They'd driven home in silence and hadn't spoken for two days before Blaine had finally gone to Kurt's house, figurative and literal hat-in-hand, and they'd talked it through.

It had taken a week until things finally felt back on an even keel and Blaine knew he never wanted to fight with Kurt again.

=^..^=

Towards the end of June, many of the major renovations had begun to finish up. The fixture, wall, and flooring work were finished in the bathrooms. The built-in bookshelves were completed and the new crown moldings and chair rails had been cut and set in their corresponding rooms, ready for installation. New windows had been put in and cracks to old drywall and plaster repaired. The kitchen had been resurrected and only awaited new appliances.

Now the fun part (at least for Kurt) was about to begin.

For two months, Kurt had been dragging Blaine to every appliance, home décor, hardware, and furniture store within reasonable driving distance and now the fruits of their labor were starting to pay off. Boxes were being delivered daily with his purchases and he couldn't wait until the decorating part of the project got underway.

He was sitting in the living room on the now stained and ripped couch that he'd been all too happy to donate to the cause (he was seriously thinking of burning it in a bonfire to celebrate the end of construction), looking through boxes of wallpaper that had just arrived, when Blaine walked in. Kurt had given him a key because of the construction work, but had made it clear he was also giving it to him as his boyfriend and that he should feel free to use it at any time. It had been the first time he'd ever given a key to someone he was dating and he'd grinned like he was being named CFDA Designer of the Year when Blaine had given him a key in return.

"The wallpaper's here!" Kurt sang out as Blaine shut the door behind him. "Look at these!" He fanned out the example pieces that had arrived in each box and pointed to a lovely striped paper in silver, white, and navy blue. "This one is for the master bedroom. It goes perfectly with that paint I got last week."

Blaine made the appropriate "oohs" and "ahhs" as Kurt matched up each paper to the room it was meant for, even offering up a suggestion for switching the paper in two of the bedrooms that Kurt loved and agreed to immediately.

"I still haven't found the right paper for the dining room, but I've got a new sample book and I'm sure the perfect one is in there. I can just feel it." Kurt tapped the sheets into a neat pile and set them aside so that they wouldn't get wrinkled and then draped himself over Blaine's shoulder. "And to what do I owe this unexpected visit? I thought you weren't going to be able to come by until tonight."

"My meeting got out a bit early and I was walking through town when I saw that The Seafarer must have gotten a new shipment in, because they were putting new items out in the window. Do you want to have lunch at the cafe and then take a look?"

The Seafarer was Kurt's favorite local antique store, where he'd already purchased several items for the house, so he jumped at the chance of being one of the first to take a look at their new stock. They took separate cars into town so that Kurt go home after Blaine returned to work and went straight to the store at Kurt's insistence ("What if we go to lunch first and someone else buys the piece that would have been perfect for the house, Blaine?").

The store had indeed gotten in a large shipment of new items from a giant flea market in Pennsylvania and they spent an hour sorting through everything, some of it not even out of the packing boxes yet. Kurt found a vintage herringbone fedora and immediately plopped it on Blaine's head. He declared it sartorial perfection and nodded to the proprietor to add it to their list of purchases, despite Blaine's protests that he wasn't sure of where he'd wear it.

"The key with vintage is to buy now, create ensembles later, Blaine." Kurt rifled through a pile of scarves, setting a few to the side. "The regret over an item you let slip away can haunt you when you find the perfect outfit you could have worn it with. Besides," he looked back at Blaine with a reassuring smile, "hats are back in fashion for men and you look amazing in it."

Kurt was carefully looking through a box for 10 unique, but complimentary, glass cabinet pulls, when a hand appeared in front of his face, waving something small. He refocused his eyes and saw that Blaine held a brooch of gold and opalescent gemstones that was in the shape of a scorpion, its claws outstretched and curled forward until they almost met in the middle. It was beautiful and ominous and Kurt loved it. It warmed his heart that Blaine knew him well enough to recognize it as something he would wear. He hadn't been wearing as many brooches as he would normally have back in New York, so Blaine had figured out his style from only a few examples.

Before long, Kurt's stomach was telling him it was way past lunchtime and he knew that Blaine had to get back to the office soon, so he reluctantly headed towards the register to get his purchases totaled up. On the way he made one last stop to poke through a stack of weathervanes. The one that had come with the house had been damaged beyond repair and he'd not yet been able to find something that excited him enough to buy it. He was looking for something nautical, given the house's location, but hadn't found the right design. The pile only contained three clichéd roosters, a horse, and an angel blowing on a horn, so he left them where they were.

After a quick lunch of salads and fresh baked sourdough from the café next door, Kurt tucked his arm into Blaine's and walked him back towards the office. About halfway there, they passed a small mattress store with giant sale signs in the window. With a mischievous smile, Blaine pulled Kurt inside. They prowled around the store, testing out the various mattresses by bouncing on them and giggling uncontrollably. Finally, they collapsed onto a king-sized memory foam mattress, sighing in unison as the foam molded around their bodies.

"This is it," Kurt declared. "I don't think I've ever been this comfortable in my entire life. If I don't buy this for the master bedroom I'll never be able to sleep again."

Blaine nodded emphatically in agreement for a second before turning his head to look at Kurt, his expression solemn. "But you're only going to be here for less than two more months. Would you ship it back to New York when you leave?"

Kurt felt all the joy of the afternoon drain away at the reminder of the expiration date on his time with Blaine. For a while there he'd forgotten that he wasn't going to be keeping the house, that all the wallpaper and appliances and décor choices would ultimately be for someone else and not for him.

"No, you're right. I got seduced by the fair siren that is memory foam." He inched off the mattress and extended a hand to help Blaine up. "Let's get you back to work before someone puts out a missing person's report." He slid his arm around Blaine's waist as they made their way down the aisle, needing the close contact right then. "Goodbye memory foam. I'll miss you!" he cried out comically as they left the store, in an ineffectual attempt to pretend his heart wasn't breaking just a little.

=^..^=

Kurt was looking through his new book of wallpaper samples when he felt it. A tickle in the back of his mind that he hadn't felt in longer than he cared to admit began to grow. He set the book aside carefully, as if moving too quickly would scare the idea away like a frightened animal, and reached for his sketch pad, which lay under the table in front of him.

He pulled out a pencil and began to draw, the patterns and colors in the samples he'd just been looking at morphing into dresses and skirts and pants and jackets until his hand was aching and his eyes were blurred.

When he could finally draw no more he sat back and looked around at the sketches that littered the floor and table. He carefully examined each one, afraid that on second glance he'd discover that they weren't that good after all. He held his breath, his eyes running over each flounce and ruffle, each pleat and hem. No, they were good. They were _really_ good.

He carefully photographed each sketch and sent a few to Santana, needing to get a second opinion from someone who wouldn't sugar coat their response. He gathered the papers, pulling one particular sketch out before putting the rest in a folder for safe keeping. He carried the sketch upstairs with him and set it on the apple crate he was using as a nightstand. He showered, moisturized, brushed, and then crawled into bed, his mind racing with accessory options and ways he could make certain pieces more commercial or editorial with slight changes. He turned over on his side and looked at the design he'd brought with him, which was only slightly visible in the light from the full moon. He reached out one finger and lightly brushed it across the way-too-detailed-for-a-normal-design-sketch face of the dark-haired, curly-headed man wearing a 1960s inspired skinny suit with a boldly patterned yellow tie, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

In the morning he woke up to an email from Santana that simply read "You're back, baby!"

=^..^=

Just as the locals had been promising for months, the weather finally turned reliably beautiful and rain-free on July 5th. The company Blaine had hired to paint the repaired exterior of the house showed up soon afterwards and set about improving the curb appeal. After much deliberation and a stack of paint sample cards two inches thick, Kurt had finally settled on Flyaway Blue, which was close to the original color, but just had that little extra oomph he was looking for. With an additional nod towards tradition he'd decided to stay with white for the trims, but at the last minute added a dark red accent for the cut-outs near the windows and the front door.

He felt a little sad not to be doing any of the painting himself (he'd done more than his fair share over the years, because while his dad was in no way into interior decorating, he did love a fresh coat of paint and Kurt had discovered at a young age that the whole painting process was really fulfilling), but he'd been so caught up in designing lately that he just didn't have the time or energy.

Luckily, sketching was the perfect thing to do on quiet evenings while cuddled up with your sweetie. Sitting on the couch, his toes tucked under Blaine's leg as he drew and Blaine read had become one of his favorite things. In fact, he must have found it very inspirational, because he'd come up so many Blaine-esqe designs he was thinking about starting a second clothing line. He wondered if he'd be able to find enough short, dark-haired models to do the runway show like he was picturing it in his head.

Kurt went to sleep many a night with a smile on his face at thoughts of a catwalk full of models who looked just like Blaine strutting their stuff in front of the crème de la crème of the fashion world.

=^..^=

Blaine's father was in town.

They'd only known he was coming for a few days and Kurt, for one, was thankful that they hadn't gotten more notice because 48 hours of nervous anticipation was more than enough.

Kurt slipped into the Anderson and Sons office just before noon, nervously adjusting the swoop of his light silk scarf as he quietly closed the door behind him. Blaine had been meeting with his father all morning and had just called Kurt a half hour before, asking if he wanted to come down to join them for lunch. He'd been preparing to be introduced to Douglas Anderson at a cocktail party being hosted by the local Chamber of Commerce later that evening, so he'd almost balked at the change in plans. A first meeting with several local community leaders in attendance to act as a buffer sounded much better than an intimate lunch. Kurt had heard the hope in Blaine's voice, though, and hadn't been able to say no.

He could hear a booming voice through the door to Blaine's office, which was slightly ajar, but he made no move to rush in. Instead, he chatted with Blaine's assistant for a few minutes, exchanging some local gossip and promising to email her the recipe for the salmon dish he'd brought to her barbeque the weekend before.

He'd just about decided that he'd stalled long enough when the office door opened fully and Blaine came out, followed by a taller man who looked just enough like Blaine to be believable as his father. Douglas' eyes were blue instead of hazel and he didn't have Blaine's luxurious eyelashes or distinctively expressive eyebrows, but he did have Blaine's wide smile, which Kurt took as a good sign.

"You're here!" Blaine cried out as he rushed over to give Kurt a kiss and hug.

The kiss went on just long enough to cause Douglas some amusement. "Blaine, I'm assuming this is Kurt and that you don't greet everyone who visits your office this way?"

Kurt felt his chest freeze, his last breath held hostage by the fear that he'd made a bad first impression, but Blaine just laughed against his lips and ended the kiss with an obnoxiously loud "Mhaw," so he forced a shuddering exhale and tried to tame his meeting-the-parent-jitters. He held his hand out in greeting as soon as he got his arms disentangled from Blaine's, smiling ruefully at Douglas' indulgent, knowing look.

Though lunch was at Kurt's favorite restaurant in town, he didn't have much of an appetite, so just he picked at his clam chowder (fresh clams were his new obsession, ever since the weekend that Blaine had drug him over to Fort Flagler to spend the day digging for them. He'd been reluctant at first and tried to fake a throat tickle to get out of it, but had ended up having a ridiculously good time digging holes with Blaine in the sand and they'd ended up with more than enough for the white wine and clam linguine he'd been dying to make) and observed the Anderson men.

Blaine was different around his father. Not earth shatteringly different, but he was a shade more formal, a touch less confident, and a just a tad bit flustered, and Kurt noticed. He understood, of course. Blaine had molded his entire adult life into something that his father wanted, so it wasn't unexpected that he'd be anxious to get his approval. It was bad enough looking for validation from a parent, it must be so much harder when that parent was also your boss.

Douglas seemed to be a typical successful businessman. He was charming and intelligent and had slight tunnel vision about his business to the point where he didn't really understand that everyone else wasn't as fascinated by it as he was.

He wasn't all business, though. He told some funny stories about Blaine's brother, Cooper, who he'd just visited in L.A., and his doomed attempt to flirt with a policewoman, who'd pulled him over, to try and get out of a ticket. He seemed genuinely interested in Blaine's life and made Kurt feel included by making a point of asking him about himself, never once showing any awkwardness about being out to lunch with his son and his son's boyfriend.

The lunch hour flew by and they didn't dawdle, for the Andersons had some more meetings to get to before they were all to meet back up that night at the dinner.

Kurt spent longer than he'd care to admit getting ready before hopping into the car, a soft cloth spread out under the pedals so that he didn't scuff the back of his A. Testoni shoes, and heading off to meet the Andersons at their office.

The event was held at the same location as the Victorian Ball and Kurt felt a rush of nostalgia as they walked through the front doors. It'd been almost four and a half months since he'd met Blaine there, in that building, and they'd been among the best months of his life.

After dinner, the guests began to mingle, some gathering to talk boring business, some seemingly determined to drink their way through the entire alcohol supply at the bar, and the rest chatting and trying to avoid work talk.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw one of the women from the barfly group wobble over to the piano that stood in the corner of the room. She collapsed down onto the bench and started to tap at the keys. It took Kurt a while to figure out what song she was trying to play, since she missed more notes than she got right.

He saw Blaine wince at the sound and an idea began to take root. He tried to push it away. Don't meddle, don't meddle, don't…oh, screw it. "Blaine, do you remember which chord comes next? She seems to be having a problem."

The organizer of the event happened to be walking by just then and turned on her heel to come back to them when she heard Kurt's words. "Blaine, you play? Oh, thank God. Please go over there and save us. She'll pick away all night long and never hit a right note if we don't do something."

Blaine shot a speaking look towards Kurt—he was sure to get a lecture about his interference later that night—but he allowed himself to be led over to the instrument. With just a few whispered words to the tone-deaf woman on the bench he slid in next to her and began to show her the right notes to play.

Within a few minutes, the woman had happily abdicated her place at the piano and had joined the crowd listening to Blaine play an old standard. Soft applause rippled through the room when he began to sing. Kurt took a sip of his drink and smiled. Blaine was amazing in his businessman and construction manager personas, but there, playing that piano and singing, he had a spark about him that just wasn't there otherwise.

Kurt was trying to think of the perfect way to point out to Douglas just how good Blaine was when he looked over to find him watching Blaine with a faraway look.

"When Blaine was little he sang so much that we actually had to bribe him in order to get him to stop every once in a while. If we had a dinner party or some meeting at home we'd pay him five dollars up front so that we could have a quiet evening, with the promise of another five if he made it the whole night without bursting into song. I don't think we ever ended up having to pay the extra five." Douglas laughed at the memory and looked at Blaine fondly. "I think as he grew older he kept up the singing at home just as a way to make money."

"I wish I'd thought of that. It would have been much easier for me to afford my clothes in high school with a supplemental income like that."

Douglas' smile dipped a little as Blaine continued to entertain the crowd. "It's been years since I've heard Blaine sing. I'd forgotten how good he is."

"He's amazing," Kurt agreed slowly, not wanting to spoil the moment. "But then, I think he's great at everything he sets his mind to."

Douglas nodded, his smile finally dropping away completely. "But it's when he sets his heart on something that I see that little boy again."


	6. Chapter 6

The work on the house was finished by mid-August.

The crews packed up and left, taking the couch that Kurt hated so much with them, leaving nothing but gleaming new appliances, fresh paint, and a beautifully refinished floor behind. When Blaine had done his final walk-through with Kurt, the emptiness had reminded him that the end of their time together was drawing near. Kurt had been giddy about finally seeing everything done, but Blaine had been forced to fake his enthusiasm.

Kurt busily began the process of moving furniture back in and decorating. Blaine wasn't able to see him very often anymore during the day, since he and his crew had moved onto a new project, but each night he left the Anderson and Sons parking lot and turned left towards Kurt's house instead of right towards his apartment. Their nightly routine remained the same, but it felt different. Each night he crawled into bed beside Kurt and swore he could hear the ticking of a clock, counting down to the time when Kurt would have to leave.

Every once in a while, Blaine caught a glimpse of Kurt staring into space with a sad expression and knew that he, too, was noticing and dreading the passage of time, but by unspoken agreement they didn't talk about it.

After a week and a half of puttering around, Kurt finally declared the house finished and decided to throw an impromptu house warming party for the friends he and Blaine had made in town. An hour before the party, Blaine went back to his apartment to change and at the last second decided to put on a gorgeous suit that Kurt had designed just for him. He'd had his people in New York whip it up from a sketch he emailed them and had given it to Blaine "just because."

He walked up to the front door, holding a wrapped gift in one hand and rubbing the other against his pant leg to wipe away the moisture. He had news to tell Kurt, but he didn't know how to bring it up.

The party was in full swing when he arrived and it was an hour or so before he was able to pull Kurt aside to give him his gift.

"For you."

Kurt took the awkwardly wrapped bundle. "You didn't have to."

"Of course I did," Blaine said softly. "You might be selling this place, but it's still a housewarming party and what's a housewarming party without a housewarming gift?"

It took Kurt only a few seconds to rip away the paper to unveil a weathervane in the shape of a whale spouting water from his blowhole.

"It's perfect!" Kurt cried, running his hands over the upraised tail. "It's just what I was looking for."

"One of the guys will come out tomorrow and put it up. Then the house will really be complete."

They were interrupted by a new arrival who wanted a tour of the house, which Kurt was only too happy to give. In the living room, Blaine could see Emily and Jyoti whispering as they ran their hands over the built-in bookcase, the real estate agents in them unable to resist trying to assign a monetary value to the improvements Kurt had made. Blaine had the uncharitable thought that they were like ambulance chasing lawyers, not even waiting until the body was cold before swooping in to offer up their services. He sighed sadly and tried to think happy thoughts. It wasn't their fault Kurt was leaving. It was no one's fault.

The party petered out around midnight and Kurt and Blaine stayed out on the front porch after they'd walked the last person out, enjoying the respite from the slightly stuffy house.

"Okay, spill." Kurt crossed his arms and looked at Blaine with a crooked eyebrow. Blaine's only answer was a questioning look. "I could tell all night that you've got something to say. Don't ever play poker. You don't have the face for it."

Blaine drew in a deep breath to hide his aching heart. "I got information today on my next assignment for work. It looks like I'm going to be going to St. Louis after this." He remembered how the bottom had dropped out of his stomach at hearing the news. He'd been so certain that he would be going to New York in January.

At first, there was only silence. "Why?"

"The manager there has to retire at the end of the year for health reasons and dad wants to take the opportunity to revamp the whole office." Blaine tried to sound halfway excited about the plan.

"St. Louis isn't that far from New York." The slump of Kurt's normally so straight shoulders said it all. "I bet there are some cheap flights."

"Sure." They'd already talked about how long distance relationships didn't work. They both knew they were grasping at straws. "So, are you still going to sell? You looked torn in there when someone mentioned it."

Kurt pulled a dead leaf from a bush beside the porch and crushed it between his fingers. "I'd love to keep it, but I'd get out here maybe one week a year at most. A house this gorgeous deserves to be lived in and loved. It needs a full time family."

The subtext was painted in neon colors.

"You could rent it out."

"No, I think a clean break is best. I'll hurt less, in the long run."

Bright pink neon.

=^..^=

Kurt was packed up and ready to go. He would probably have to spend an hour or more in line for the ferry, but he and Blaine had both agreed to say goodbye at the house and not make a spectacle of themselves in front of all the campers and tourists who'd be waiting with him.

"Have you got everything?" Blaine asked, eyeing the back of the car, which only held one large suitcase and a carry-on, doubtfully.

"I shipped the rest home yesterday. Mail's cheaper than airline extra baggage fees."

Blaine rubbed a hand absently back-and-forth over Kurt's back. "Make sure to get lots of sleep on the plane. You don't want to be cranky for your first day back in the office tomorrow."

"I will." Kurt could feel the emotion bubbling up, so he pursed his lips together and bit in the inside of his cheek. He wanted to wait until he was back in his apartment before he fell apart. "Text me, okay? Maybe you can come out to New York over the holidays. New York is magic at Christmas."

"Okay." Blaine's jaw was clenched as he stared down at the pavement. "Sounds great. Maybe we'll go see the Rockettes."

Kurt nodded and turned towards the car. He'd taken only a few steps before he dropped his messenger bag to the ground and spun around. He flung his arms around Blaine's neck and held on for dear life. "Come with me. Please."

He felt Blaine breathe deeply into his hair. "I can't, Kurt. My father…"

"I know, I know." Kurt sniffed and straightened his shoulders. "Sorry. Passing moment of weakness. Don't mind me."

He opened the car door and threw his bag into the passenger seat. He turned, resting his back against the roof, his arms braced on the top of the door. "You know, your father got to follow his dreams. I know you love him and want to make him proud, but you can't live your life for him. You're allowed your own dreams." Blaine just stood still, looking sad, so Kurt rushed on. "I'm so, so glad I met you and I don't regret my decision to stay for one second. I would rather have 30 minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special."

Blaine let out a sound that was part laugh and part sob. "Kurt Hummel, did you just quote Steel Magnolias to me during our touching farewell?"

Kurt wiped away a tear with the back of his hand as he grinned. "I do declare, I don't know _what_ you're talking about," he said in a horrible Southern accent.

The alarm sounded on Kurt's phone, telling him it was time to leave for the ferry line. There was one last kiss and one last hug and suddenly he was driving away, watching as Blaine got smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror until finally he could no longer see him at all.

=^..^=

It was good to be back in New York.

The city had felt like home since the first time Kurt had visited in high school and it still did, though it wasn't quite the same since he'd returned from Washington. The bagels didn't taste quite as delicious, the streets seemed extra crowded with tourists, and the always present energy seemed a little dimmed.

Everything seemed a little…less without Blaine.

They spoke at least several times a week and texted each other often, but after being together almost every day for six months being alone again had been a big adjustment.

To his great relief, Kurt found that his design muse was still with him (in fact, he'd been so prolific since he'd returned that he'd decided to go ahead with the second clothing line), but in every other area of his life he felt mopey and listless.

The house sold in late September, after less than a month on the market. Kurt cried the day he signed the paperwork. Irrationally he'd felt that as long as he still owned it, he had an extra connection to Blaine.

In the three months since they'd last been together, Kurt had been one button click away from buying a plane ticket to Seattle more than once, but something always held him back. Like an alcoholic who wanted just one more drink, he knew that if he broke down and saw Blaine he would have to start the detox process all over again. It might help his momentary craving, but it wouldn't be worth it in the long run. Maybe after more time passed they would be over the worst and might be able to be just friends.

Kurt knew that Santana had noticed his ennui, but it wasn't until late November that she actually said something. He was sitting in his office, erasing the collar on the sketch of a jacket for the umpteenth time, when she came in and shut the door.

"Okay, I've left you alone to do the lovelorn wallow, but this is the second time this week that you've worn that outfit, so I think it's time for an intervention." She sat down on the edge of his desk and pulled the pencil from his hand so that she had his undivided attention. "I read on the internet that I need to do this using 'I' statements, so here goes. I think that job security aside," she gestured to the stack of designs he was working on, "you're actually in a worse place than when you left. I feel like I've been working with a ghost for the past three months, so now I'm seriously considering hiring you a companion for the evening to take the edge off."

"If you do, then I'm going to have find another office manager." Kurt snatched the pencil back and returned to working on the stubborn collar.

"Hey, how about if we go out on the town tonight? It's been too long since I've had the chance to get my groove on. Come on," she coaxed, "you know I'm an amazing wing man. Let's go find you a hot piece of ass to take your mind off things."

Kurt tossed the pencil down and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Santana, I'm just not ready, okay? Blaine was more than a little fling and it's going to take a while to get over this. That's just the way it is and there's nothing you can do to change that."

Santana hung her head, her hair swinging forward to hide part of her face. "I'm sorry, I guess the whole 'take a trip to get your life in order' thing was a bad idea. I shouldn't have forced you to leave. It wasn't worth it."

"No, it was totally worth it." He looked over at his computer, which even now had a tab open to an airline page with Seattle set as the destination, and sighed.

=^..^=

It was December 23rd and the first snow of the year was falling softly outside. Kurt couldn't remember the last time they'd had a white Christmas in New York, so he hoped it would stick around and not melt away too quickly. Maybe he'd grab a few friends in the morning and try and go for a walk in Central Park before the dogs (and other's best left unmentioned) yellowed the pristine landscape.

He was in the middle of cooking dinner (something he rarely did anymore, since cooking for one was just no fun and only resulted in leftovers that would get thrown away) when the image of his little crockpot back in Port Townsend and all the meals he'd made for Blaine popped into his mind.

He hoped salty tears didn't ruin the flavor of his chicken.

He was just about to sit down to eat when the doorbell rang. Thinking that it was his neighbor, who was always asking to borrow milk or eggs because she was too lazy to go to the store, Kurt stomped over to the door, grumbling the whole way. He pulled the door open to find a red poinsettia where he would have expected a face to be. The plant, with its festive bow, lowered down to reveal Blaine, who was looking damp, but happy.

"Blaine! What are you doing here?" Kurt gasped in surprise.

Blaine grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that Kurt loved. "I heard New York was the place to be at the holidays, so I thought I'd check it out."

Snowflakes were melting in Blaine's hair and on his eyelashes, making Kurt's fingers itch to brush them away. He stepped back into the apartment and ushered for Blaine to follow. "But are you…I mean, how long…"

Blaine dropped his bag at his feet and nudged the door closed with his toe. "I decided to take your advice. I'm following my own dream. I decided to quit my job and had just about worked up the courage to go through with it when my dad called. We were talking about something else when out of nowhere he casually said that he has this new manager at corporate headquarters who's a real go-getter and how he'd be such a great second in command, if I ever wanted to leave the company. He gave me an out, Kurt. I don't know why, but…"

Kurt thought about the look he'd seen on Douglas' face as he'd watched Blaine sing at the party back in July. "Maybe he just realized that he has an amazing son who can set the world on fire, if given the chance to shine."

A flush crept over Blaine's cheeks at the compliment. "I thought that maybe I'd try to get back into performing. I've got a few friends from high school in the music business here in New York. Who knows what could happen."

"Connections are good," Kurt said breathlessly, his heart beating so loudly in his chest he was surprised the walls weren't vibrating in time.

"Speaking of which," Blaine glanced up at Kurt through his eyelashes, "do you know anyone who might have a spare room I could stay in while I look for a place here in the city?"

"No." Blaine looked dismayed at Kurt's response. He opened his mouth to respond, but Kurt laid a finger across his lips to stop him. "But I know someone who has a room that you can have forever."


End file.
